Cooper And Jones
by underastarlessnight
Summary: Betty and Jughead are spies who hate each other. Betty is the uptight teachers pet, and Jughead is an incompetent idiot. But opposites attract. When two of their own go missing while undercover at a mysterious prestigious Academy, they are tasked to find the missing agents, and slowly but surely start to fall for each other along the way...
1. Chapter 1

Being a spy came naturally to Betty. As a child she had eavesdropped on doors, at bedtime pinning her best ear to the dusty boards to hear what the grown-ups had to say. As a teen she had known everything about everyone, always the goldmine of information. She was the Nancy Drew of her small town, solving cases the sheriff's department couldn't, as well as having a knack for breaking into places and things she shouldn't.

When she was sixteen, Betty was nothing more than a wannabe detective. Years later the skills that had labelled her as weird had gotten her the job of a lifetime. Her dream. The only difference now was that she got paid a huge sum for her ability to gather sensitive intel, and with her training, she could also kick ass should it be necessary. Plus, it was fun. She loved being out on the field, completely free from the generic nine to five. Every mission was a new challenge, and after getting herself into a fair share of scary situations and being able to overcome them, she was high on confidence. Nothing could go wrong, and when it did, she could easily get herself and her colleagues out of it. She was smart without needing to be, and with her training, could easily take someone down. In conclusion, Agent Elizabeth Cooper (Code name: PEACOCK) was one of the best.

At least … that's what she thought. It wasn't that Betty was bad. If she was, she wouldn't be working for The Agency. In fact, she was one of their top agents, and had been since she had joined. But there was one hurdle stopping her from truly reaching her potential and excelling. The problem wasn't Betty, and it wasn't what she did, or her work. It was Agent Jones who was the problem. Agent Jones who had managed to get himself kidnapped again. The boy she was sure, if he had a gun and she was standing in front of him, and they didn't happen to be bound to the same organisation, swearing an oath that they would protect the American citizens and keep the country safe, he would shoot her in the damn head. He wouldn't take mercy, wouldn't hesitate, wouldn't even apologize.

Recruited from Harvard at eighteen when her test scores had caught attention, Betty had found herself being whisked away to a training academy for two years, before joining The Agency. The point was, she was still a kid. Along with Andrews, the two of them were the babies of their department. Jones was a grown adult. Well, he was twenty five and the age difference wasn't much, but Betty didn't care. Jones had been in The Agency far longer than her, and had way more experience. He didn't have the excuse that he'd just been recruited and was still a little rusty. And yet on every mission, he ended up either getting taken down or kidnapped, which was hard to believe considering he, like Betty, was one of the best. From what she'd gathered, Jones had started out working in the office and, after apparently wowing the higher ups, had been transferred to the field.

Thus becoming the bane of her existence.

Jones was the damsel in distress, the Rapunzel, in every mission. A so-called brilliant analyst turned field agent, with no real skills. He had the basics sorted, knew how to stun, knock out, and kill. But that was it. He didn't have the knowledge that iPhone chargers could become tools in moments of desperation; acid doesn't completely destabilize your opponent, especially if they're a knife-wielding maniac, already brandishing a glass eye; and a kick to the face didn't do much, except majorly piss someone off. It was all about basic self defense, which he still couldn't master. His moves were clumsy and amateur at best. Betty had lost count how many times she'd beaten him in training, but he never gave up, refusing to lose to her. When they were on the field, Jones was worse. He didn't understand that getting the intel was the most important thing (kick the guy's ass later!)

Jughead Jones was the reason why she woke up in the morning, groaning into freshly brewed coffee. Why she sometimes hated her job. The two of them were polar opposites. Betty liked to take down enemies; Jughead only doing so when he absolutely had to, and if he didn't, he stood around pretending to make himself useful while she was left to deal with hoards of guys and gals with ninja-like training, making Betty feel like she'd been self-inserted into a Jackie Chan movie. She was neat and tidy, keeping her desk clean and organised. When she had to write up a report, Betty would look over, and there his desk would be, covered in papers, books, and chip wrappers, ruining her concentration as well as fung shui. While she preferred to wear black, The Agency's formal attire, he came to work in anything from shorts and t-shirt to a crummy vest top and jeans that were practically glued to his skin. It was only when Betty, sick of him looking like a damn homeless person, complained to the higher ups, did Jughead reluctantly agree to wear the proper dress, but it didn't stop him from sending her crummy looks every time they caught each other's eye. She sent them back, which turned into some preschool glaring contest.

Betty and Jughead were light and dark, the sun and the moon - any opposite you can think of, they were it. While she brandished a glossy smile and blonde curls pulled into a tight ponytail, he barely dragged a comb through his mop of bedraggled curls, and only smiled when he was hanging with Andrews and Lodge, or when she was having a bad day. It thrilled him, for some reason. It was Jughead Jones who had transformed her from a straight forward, ass kicking bad-ass spy, to, in Hiram Lodge's words, "An obstinate little girl who acts like a middle schooler with a superiority complex."

Superiority complex? Sure.

It wasn't a secret that Hiram Lodge had favorites. They all their talents and strengths. Andrews was their greatest fighter; Lodge was like a femme fatal, her main weapon being her beauty and ability to bring any man or woman to their knees. Cooper and Jones shared being the brains, the intelligent ones. Though ever since Jughead had stopped a cyber attack in its tracks in mere minutes from the comfort of his office, Hiram hadn't removed his head from the guy's ass. And because Hiram was her superior, it didn't matter how many times she reported how truly awful Jughead was at being an agent, she still found that she had to teach him how to throw a damn grenade, and recently, properly hold a gun ("No, your hands go here! What, are you in a Western film? Focus on the target!") to which he'd come back with some snappy comments that only infuriated her further.

"I didn't think you'd get so heated up about a gun. Imagine what you're like elsewhere..."

"I'm going to ignore that. I'm not stooping to your level."

"Are you propositioning me, Cooper? Take me to dinner first."

That, along with the fact that he was the worst field agent she'd ever met, was why she hated Jughead Jones. He was a goddamn asshole.

The worst part was that Hiram was always going to choose Jones over her. If she single-handedly saved a bus full of pregnant women and children, who also happened to be the offspring of America's elite, he would still choose Jughead. Betty wasn't going to deny that at times, she hadn't been afraid to be childish herself. Last year's Christmas party she had been given him for Secret Santa. Her first thought was to buy him advanced training sessions with a professional who could teach him how not to be a damn wimp. But then he'd over-mined her in a meeting, treating her like she was a child. So it was only fair that she returned the favor. Betty had settled on a My First Secret Agent dress-up kit. The gun blew bubbles. The reception had been a success even outside their inner circle, and Betty, also known as "the uptight blonde one" was popular for one night, after far too many drinks.

Needless to say, he didn't find it funny.

Though Jones had gotten her back in the form of getting his picture framed in Hiram's office. According to the gold plated writing at the top of the frame - "An exceptional agent willing to take risks and sacrifice himself for others." - it was bullshit. He'd left her plenty of times to save his own skin, leaving Betty to take out the bad guys and accomplish the mission, while Jughead was sitting in the van, ordering around Lodge and Keller.

And now he'd been kidnapped? Of course he had.

Betty had been paired up with him enough times to understand why he seemed to be the target of every enemy. It wasn't surprising. Jones was smart. If he played his cards right, he could be smarter than her one day. The boy should have been kept in the office. His impotency was the reason why they butted heads so much, which lead to mission failures. As well as being completely incompetent in the field, Jughead was also stubborn. He failed to follow instructions and went along with his own plan when all else failed. If he'd ever been successful in a mission, it would either have been an accident or he'd taken credit for someone else's work, which was normally hers. The boy's promotion to a field agent had baffled her for a while now, what with him constantly being taken down like it was child's play, and the fact that he had been taken prisoner once again just proved her point that he should have never left the analyst office.

Just thinking about how quickly and effortlessly Jughead Jones rose in the ranks caused her heart rate to spike in rage - or that lurching sensation could have something to do with how erratic Archie was driving. Fingers digging into the material of the armrest, Betty gritted her teeth as she looked out the window, watching the trees and scenery fly by in a blur of figures and colors. This was decidedly not how she wanted to spend her Monday afternoon, especially in the passenger seat with a maniac behind the wheel.

That maniac happened to be her best friend.

"Archie." Speaking through gritted teeth was the only way of getting the boy's attention. He and Jughead were pretty close, so it wasn't surprising that the boy was on edge. The two of them were practically inseparable, and Betty definitely wasn't jealous that the devil incarnate, Jones, stole away her friend when the two of them moved in together. Archie was everything she wasn't - calm, patient, and willing to sacrifice his sanity for the Jones boy. Though admittedly, the two of them worked well together. Betty had witnessed that a few months back, when the boys had single-handedly taken down a child trafficking ring ran by corrupt leaders of the government, which had both made them heroes of the agency, as well as targets. Jughead was an obvious victim since he couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag. Archie was the opposite. With skills she envied him for, the boy was a menace in training and could take down multiple bad guys at once. The bruises and aching joints after training with him were a sure sign. Archie was slow when he fought, quickly calculating weak spots before going in for the kill. It was like being hit by a damn train. Though he hadn't always been like that. Through sheer discipline and strict conditioning, the boy had gone from a clumsy idiot to a still-clumsy ninja- idiot.

Though since she was a kid, Betty had always wanted to be friends with a ninja.

At nineteen years old, Archie Andrews was the youngest field agent on record. He'd been recruited at the same time as Betty, but he'd still been in high school. While she'd been chosen from her test scores, he had been picked for his physical skills, both in and out of school. They'd met at the Academy and instantly become friends. It was hard not to fall for the boy's charm, those kind brown eyes, and his sense of humor. Though Archie had always felt more like a brother, a best friend. There had been a time when Betty had a crush on him, way back in the initial days of recruitment.

Though how could she not? Compared to the other recruits Archie was a fresh faced redhead with freckled cheeks and an inability to stay on his feet for more than five seconds, unlike every other generic guy. Her first impression of him was made up when the boy walked into their first class and face-planted the floor in front of 100+ recruits before jumping up and hurrying to his seat, his cheeks blossoming a darker shade of his hair. Betty knew they'd be friends from the first glance he sent her way, cheeks still burning in embarrassment. It wasn't until class had ended did she pluck up the courage to talk to him. The rest was history. He was the younger brother she'd never had, the jokester she needed to brighten her days, and the guy Betty was sure was going to kill her with his Grand Theft Auto driving.

"Can you chill out?"

It was a three person rescue squad. Cooper, Lodge, and Andrews. The three of them were all there for a different purpose, according to Hiram. But it was obvious why they were chosen. Sure, they were stronger together, but they were also Jughead's "inner circle" if you like. As much as Betty hated the boy, Veronica and Archie were her friends. When Archie invited her for drinks, Jughead would always be there, skulking over a book and drinking some pretentious concoction she'd never heard of. And while Lodge and Andrews were practically dry humping each other, Betty had to sit and stare into her vodka and orange for an hour, praying Jones didn't strike up a conversation. But he always did. And it always ended in an argument, and something (usually one of their drinks) ending up smashed on the ground, childish insults thrown back and forth and the night was over. Even if it pained her to think it, she was classified as one of the boy's friends.

Veronica Lodge sat in the backseat, her laptop balancing on her knees. She'd been tasked with tracking down the Jones boy. Archie took them round a turn, and the girl looked up from the screen, irritation flickering in bright torpid eyes. Veronica Lodge was gorgeous, obsidian hair pulled into a ponytail and golden skin glistening in the late afternoon sunlight. Ronnie Lodge, also "V", was known for her looks, for her seduction techniques, and her ability to take down a guy with just her lips. Being friends with Archie meant spending a lot of time with Veronica, but Betty didn't hate it.

She had come from the city, emancipating at the age of fifteen. From there she'd moved to a new town and kept her head down for three years, managing to score a spot at NYU. Betty didn't know the details of Veronica's recruitment and the girl was reluctant to share, but she could bet it was because of her hot shot father. The father she still hadn't named. She was probably ashamed. The girl fanned her face with her hand, popping open the window. It was unusually warm for late October, but Betty refused to take her blazer off. She'd spilled coffee on her shirt earlier, and it was very noticeable if she removed her jacket.

Veronica, however, looked immaculate. She wore formal like Betty, but somehow it looked better on her, the collar popped, her suit jacket hanging open exposing slender curves, a body Betty would die for. Veronica looked like she attended some prestigious academy, but damn, she could pull it off. Despite her beauty, the girl had gone a little green.

"Betty's right, Andrews. Slow down." Veronica sat up straighter, crimson fingernails hammering the laptop keyboard. Veronica and Archie had a friends with benefits type thing, both of them too busy with work to label it something more. Plus, dating in their field of work was strictly prohibited. The two of them acted like an old married couple. Cute. Though sometimes vomit-inducing, especially when Betty was trying to enjoy a piece of toast in the break room while the two of them very clearly enjoyed each other's presence, but couldn't expose themselves. Betty could cut through the sexual tension with a damn knife. If she was honest, it was like working with two horny teenagers.

"Sorry, Ronnie." Archie looked completely out of sorts - suit askew, tie wrinkled from being loosened, his red hair sticking up in all directions due to how many times he pulled the ray bans back in his hair and then putting them on once more in a never ending cycle. It was uncharacteristic of him, but it also showed the gravity of the situation, especially if the worried look on his face was any indication. "I'm just worried about him, y'know? He's a smart guy and I love him, but he's, uh ..." he trailed off.

"Useless?" Betty perked up, rolling her eyes. "It's the third time in three months, Arch. If these guys want him so bad, why can't we just let them have him?" She didn't mean that, it came out like word vomit. Archie sent her a look of horror.

"You can't say that! He's one of us!"

"Watch the cat!" Veronica squeaked, the laptop nearly flying off her lap. The girl considered herself an animal rights activist. She was the only vegan Betty knew who took weeks off, becoming a meat eater for a few days, but then going back on the rabbit diet. She was a total fake. Archie slammed down on the brake in just enough time. A long haired tabby pounced out of the way easily, slinking down an an alleyway.

Betty leaned back in her seat and pinched the bridge of her nose. "He's not one of us. He belongs in the office. Maybe if Hiram stopped sending him out in the field, he might not get kidnapped every single fucking day."

The redhead sent her a look, his eyebrows bunching together. "You don't mean that."

She scoffed. "I do."

Archie ignored her and bit his lip, squinting. Whatever he'd wanted to say, some kind of bro-speech about how much he hoped Jughead was alright, which she definitely didn't want to hear, died on his tongue. His jaw clenched and he straightened up slightly. Archie had a knack for seeing things other people couldn't. Stepping on the gas, his fingers clenched around the wheel. His expression had gone from apologetic boyfriend, to a no-nonsense agent in a few seconds. "The car in front of us. Run its license plate."

"Already on it." Veronica's fingers worked fast, before she exhaled with a groan. "The sever's down."

"Brilliant," Archie muttered. "How you doing with tracking Jug? His last location should still be there, despite the server issues." The boy's gaze ran over the blur of green surrounding them. "Jesus, where is he, in the woods? This place is desolate."

"He'll be fine." Betty tipped her head back, resisting a groan. "I mean, like you said, Arch. He's one of us."

Archie huffed. "He's our friend and needs our help, Cooper."

Cooper. He called her that when he was pissed, but at that moment, Betty didn't mind. She was too busy trying to figure out how they were going to save Jones's ass - again.

"He's your friend, Archie. I'm just here on assignment."

Again, Archie ignored her, simply sending her an irritated look. "Veronica? I need Jug's location. Now."

Veronica, swallowing thickly, probably trying desperately not to think about how fast they were going and the bumps the car was taking, merely shook her head. "Not the woodlands ... at least, not exactly." She had to take another moment before she was able to continue. "Jones and I were surveilling the Russians in these parts, after we bugged them last month. Shipments, payments, different correspondences we were able to capture indicates they were in the beginning stages of starting a war with the Korean gang. Jug was supposed to infiltrate and plant chips, so we could gain concrete evidence, but he was captured. There should be a warehouse somewhere nearby. We're heading towards it." The girl screwed her face up. "It's an abandoned lot that closed down in '05. Since then it's been the breeding ground for bad guy hang outs. Jug's last location was there, forty five minutes ago, before it disappeared. Which means ..." she trailed off.

"Which means we need to hurry." Archie tightened his grip on the wheel. Betty understood the boy's nerves. The way his jittery fingers were tapping on the leather of the wheel was sending her own heart into a frenzy. Part of her wanted to grab the boy's hand and give a reassuring squeeze. Instead she rolled her eyes, leaning forward in anticipation. The car was slowing down and Veronica was already packing up her laptop, her hands going to unbuckle her belt. Driving one-handed, Archie struggled with his own. Betty sent the boy a look. His jaw was clenched. She knew what the boy was like when he was tense, when he was scared. And yes, that was most definitely fear scrawled all over his expression. If Archie stormed the place, all guns blazing, Jughead would be as good as dead. This time she did grab his hand.

"Relax, Andrews. It's Jughead. He'll probably bore them to death, reading some pretentious monologue from his favorite book. He'll be fine."

Archie chuckled. "Not completely out of the realm of possibility," he muttered, and yanked his hand away quickly. He wasn't one to show feelings. Unless it was life or death. "Alright, let's do this."

They were in the middle of nowhere. Which wasn't exactly surprising. It was the perfect place. In short, there was nothing. No houses, parks, not even a car in sight. It was like stepping onto the set of a post-apocalyptic TV show. Patches of grass surrounding the road were long overdue a cut. There was a wire fence a few yards away. Betty jumped out quickly, pulling her gun from her belt. Better safe than sorry. The temperature had dropped. She shivered in a biting breeze that blew strands of her hair from her eyes.

Archie led them at a slow pace, Veronica at his side. "Put your gun away." He nodded at her. "The last thing we want is for them to see us a threat."

She respectfully disagreed. If they had any chance of taking these guys down, they needed to make their motives clear. Sighing, Betty shoved her pistol into the waistband of her jacket, trying not to glower at the boy. "Lead the way."

The redhead nodded. Ahead of them, there it was - a towering building of crumbling rock that looked seconds from collapsing. It was a complete mess, to put it nicely. From outside the boarded windows, the shabby wood paneling and the peeling door that was bolted with iron rods all looked scary and threatening enough to keep any sane person away. The perfect place to cook up schemes. Betty squinted at each shattered window. The three of them waded through grass nearly up to their knees, vaulting over a metal fence. As soon as Betty's flats landed on the ground, she straightened up, the other two standing on either side of her. Archie ran his hands through his hair. The place looked easy enough to storm, but it was a matter of who was waiting for them. Were they about to get a surprise attack?

"Is this it?"

"Looks like it." Veronica cocked her head. She was staring at the shabby wooden door, which was open ajar. It looked like it had better days. Archie started forwards, and she grabbed him, yanking him back. When it came to leadership, all of them mastered it, but Archie was a conflict of interest, considering his and Jughead's relationship, and Betty, being completely honest, didn't care enough to sacrifice her life so a damn idiot could continue upstaging her. Veronica was practically vibrating with elation, green eyes glittering. "Right, this should be a piece of cake." She glanced at the sky. "We've got about an hour of sunlight left, and we don't want it to get dark. We go in through the front, and make our way up each floor. Archie and I will take out our perps, and Betty, you get Jughead out quickly. Our first priority is getting him out safe."

Because apparently he couldn't do it himself.

Betty was sure she'd nodded in understanding, but the girl was still frowning at her, lips curled slightly into a smirk. Maybe Veronica could read her thoughts. It wouldn't surprise her, considering Veronica Lodge didn't seem like a real person, what with her beauty, skills, and her ability to read her expression, and jeez, maybe even her mind.

The girl gave her a condescending smile, and sometimes, despite her love for her colleague, she wanted to punch Veronica in the face. "Don't let your emotions get in the way of the mission, Cooper."

"What?" Betty couldn't help hissing. "When has that ever happened?" Veronica opened her mouth to reply, and Betty groaned. "Don't answer that." She'd definitely let her emotions get the better of her - several times. But that was when she was younger. She was positive she could do something as easy as rescuing a fellow agent, even if it was Jughead.

"We're wasting daylight," Archie cut in. "Betty, get Jug out of there. Ronnie and I will take care of everything else."

So it was settled. They entered the building quietly, weapons drawn. Veronica led the way with Betty and Archie bringing up the rear. There were no doors separating the rooms on the ground floor, yet they could be found a few feet into each room, often with large chunks torn out of them, scratch marks creating cross-hatched patterns, and occasionally, there was still paint left clinging to the worn wood. Surprisingly, most of the furniture had survived with minimal damage, only a few scratches and chips to their name. The place looked to be the skeleton of a long dead company buried in the ground. There was only one rickety, wooden staircase leading to the first floor, again the same long scratch marks could be seen all the way up the wall opposite the worn, beaten banister. It was as if a monster lived there, a proper one straight from Betty's childhood nightmares. When fear took hold of her brain, anything was possible.

Even monsters in broad daylight.

But she couldn't focus on that, couldn't focus on the shadows dancing in the corner of her eyes or the way the floorboards creaked underneath her feet, sending her heart fluttering in her chest. It was human nature to feel fear, human nature to want to protect instead of rush into danger. It had taken Betty many years to master that art of pushing instinctive fear to the back of her mind, to urge herself forward, despite that childlike voice in the ear, whispering for her to turn around and run.

And she wouldn't mind doing exactly that, especially if it meant her not having to save Jughead again, because he was incapable of taking care of himself. Moral values aside, the only thing truly keeping Betty from walking back to the car was the backlash she'd get from it - Archie's disappointed, angry expression; Veronica's frustration at a mission she was leading being blotched by her pettiness; the copious amounts of paperwork that would have to be done; not to mention the lecture and reprimands she would get from Hiram Lodge. Despite how much she despised Jughead Jones, letting the idiot die wasn't worth the headache.

Pressing on, Betty moved deeper down the hallway, peeking into rooms before continuing on, not knowing exactly where Jones was being held. She blew out a breath as she went, that adrenaline slowly working its way through her blood stream. On the ground level, she could hear the beginning sounds of a fight, elevated voices, and Betty knew that it wouldn't be long before the sounds of gunfire followed.

Her senses expanded, her ears keeping note of approaching footsteps that belonged to an enemy trying to gain the upper hand on her; her eyes constantly shifting all around her, taking in as much as they could. She became aware of each step she took - the soft sounds of her footfalls, the creaking floorboards, the thrumming of her heart against her rib-cage. Somewhere in the warehouse, water was leaking, and it only added to the ambience, like a reverberation that her heart was trying to mimic. Above her, a lightbulb hung from a wire, the swinging enough to resemble the shadows dancing along the floors, making them seem alive.

Betty had just gotten to the end of the hallway, with a room on either side of her, when the shots started going off. Her head ducked instinctively before she whipped it around, as though she expected heavy footsteps to follow. By now, the enemy knew why they were there, so it was only a matter of time before they came to ensure they couldn't take back Jones. The very notion in her head had her eyes rolling. If it were up to her, she'd be at home soaking in a steaming bath, and if Jones happened to be locked in a crate on a ship heading out of the country … oh, well.

Pulling her attention back to the situation at hand, Betty's focus landed on the room to her left. It was the only room that had an attached door, and when she tried it, the latch held firm. It took three solid hits before the worn wooden door budged under the weight of her shoulder, the pain a flicker in the back of her mind as she took stock of what was inside - or who. And it was as though all the blood started rushing to her head, her eyes seeing, but her mind unbelieving as she froze in the doorway, her muscles bundling together to the point where the pain was starting to become prominent now, because - because -

"What the hell are you doing?" It probably wasn't the smartest of questions to ask, seeing as how she could clearly see what he was doing - or, more accurately, what he wasn't doing - but it was as though she needed confirmation, because the obvious was too infuriating.

It had taken them hours to find him, wasting away with equipment and driving around for miles. Veronica had been stressed; Archie had been an absolute nervous wreck; and Betty was just pissed off at having been apart of this operation to begin with - and to be greeted with the sight before her, it had her seeing red. What she had hoped to see - because at least then, it would have been justified - and what she was actually seeing - an image that was steadily bringing her blood pressure to dangerous levels - were two completely different things, and quite frankly, Betty was disappointed and severely pissed off.

Because Jughead Jones wasn't a bleeding, bruised mess, wasn't clinging to consciousness or passed out. No, the bastard was just … just sitting there, his knee bouncing casually. Betty forced down the hysterical laugh that was slowly building in the back of her throat, threatening to burst, because of course he'd be calm in this type of situation, seeing as how he was used to getting kidnapped and rescued on an almost daily basis!

It was taking everything within her power to not close the distance between them and rip his head from his shoulders. In everyone else's book, Jughead was attractive. He could almost be Veronica's twin, brandishing the same inky black hair and golden skin. But the boy wasn't gorgeous. He was far from it. Jughead's hair was askew, dark curls falling over piercing blue eyes that widened when they made eye contact. He was pretty disheveled, but unharmed - white shirt untucked as always; the tie he'd been practically forced to wear, hanging from his wonky collar. His arms were pinned behind his back, feet glued together, coiled with enough duct tape to fix the broken windows upstairs.

The boy's eyes narrowed, and he leaned back in the plastic chair he'd been bound to, grimacing. "Oh, it's you."

Betty's glare sharpened, but she didn't say anything. If she did, she'd scream. And from the noise upstairs, the sound of gunshots shattering glass, she didn't need to attract anymore unwanted attention. Moving forward, Betty folded her arms. Truth be told, she didn't want to untie him. So instead of following orders, she leaned against the door frame, studying him. It was basic training to be able to get out of restraints, one of the first things she'd learned at the academy. Of course Jughead was clueless.

"Well, it took you long enough," the boy drawled, his bright blue eyes slowly looking her over before a sly smirk spread across his lips. He cocked his head. "My hero."

For a moment she was speechless, before biting down hard on her lip, suppressing what Archie called a "Cooper bitch fit".

"Are you comfy, Jones?"

Jughead held her gaze before his lips quirked into a smile. "Not really. German guy kicked me in the balls, and the duct tape around my wrists stings like a bitch."

Betty cocked her brow. Screw letting her emotions get the better of her, the asshole needed to be kicked down a few notches. She didn't move. More gunshots upstairs, and she winced slightly. So did Jughead. But neither of them were scared for their partners. Andrews and Lodge knew what they were doing. "Say please."

Whatever facade he'd been hiding behind shattered almost immediately. "What are you waiting for, Cooper?" He leaned forward, turbulent blue eyes slitting. "That's an order. Untie me."

"Can't you get yourself out, though?" With a smile flickering on her lips, she started towards him, but at a slow pace. "I mean, you should know basic escape techniques, since you're Hiram's golden boy."

Jughead scoffed. "Look, I'd love to play games, since you're what, eighteen?"

"Twenty one."

"Whatever. My point is, stop being fucking childish and untie me, Cooper. I know we don't see eye to eye, but you can't act like this on assignment. It's extremely immature behavior."

Annoyingly enough, he was right. She could tear him apart when the mission was over. Betty untied his wrists first, before starting on his ankles. While she was sawing through a particularly difficult knot, he clucked his tongue, shifting in his chair. "I didn't ask you to save me, y'know. I was handling it."

Betty looked up, and his blue eyes were glinting in the din, an amused smirk on his lips. She swallowed a bout of laughter. "Oh, you're doing a great fucking job, Jones. Kudos."

He choked out a laugh. "What the fuck is your problem?"

Betty stopped wrestling with the duct tape wrapped around the boy's legs. "My problem?" she spat, straightening up. "My problem is you! This is the third time, Jones! What, do you get some kind of thrill out of getting taken? Do you get a hard on from being tied up?"

"Uh, Betty -" The boy's tone flitted from amused to serious. He struggled in his bindings, letting out a hiss of breath. But she couldn't stop herself. For months she'd been holding it in, swallowing down the urge to scream at him.

Betty gritted her teeth. "It's Agent Cooper. You're far from calling me Betty, you incompetent piece of -"

Betty didn't see Jughead's eyes widen, his lips twisting into a yell. All she was aware of was pudgy fingers gripping her by the scruff of her ponytail and ragging her backwards. She staggered but didn't lose her footing, but before she could fight back, the smooth metal barrel of a gun was protruding into her temples, and she had no choice but to lower herself onto her knees. The guy looming over her looked around her age, give or take. Slim build, short dark hair and pale skin. The curve of his jaw stood out, a manic smile splitting his mouth apart. "Hello." The man cocked his head to the side. Strong German accent. He surveyed her with genuine curiosity. "Are you … girlfriend?"

It took her a few seconds to realize what that meant, but she couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. She'd been trained for this, but losing her shit with Jones had thrown her off kilter. When she didn't answer, Jughead cleared his throat. "If I'm being honest with you, Dimitri, I'd rather date you. You're much nicer to me."

The man chuckled. "Very pretty," he said, caressing her cheek. Betty flinched away, holding her breath, but the man moved closer, the stink of garlic on his breath making her nauseous. "Two pretties," he giggled. "Boy and girl. Become ours. Hübsche Sklaven."

Oh god, no.

Jughead seemed to have the same thought, which was surprising, because Betty was sure he only had one brain cell, incapable of figuring out threats. He laughed nervously. "Like I said, Dimitri, as amazing as being a sex slave sounds, I'd much rather skip it. And I'm sure Betty feels the same. Right, Betty?"

"Yes." The words were flying from her mouth before she could stop them. She swallowed hard, shifting on her knees. This was the most helpless she'd been in a long time, the cold concrete floor digging into her knees, the gun pressed to her temples, and the ever-growing panic swarming in her gut, that this time, they might not get out. They might not win. She shivered. Where were Lodge and Andrews? It had gone quiet, the sounds of gunshots and yelling no longer deafening her. If they had been captured, all four of them were in serious danger of becoming victims of human trafficking. Veronica must have read the intel wrong. These people weren't gangs on the verge of war - they were goddamn sex traffickers. And there was nothing more these sickos loved more than agents. Betty forced all the what ifs into the back of her mind. She had to concentrate.

"Hübsches Mädchen. Du wirst hübsche Frau machen." Betty shivered at the man's words. "Pretty girl. You'll make … pretty bride."

She couldn't help whimpering when the man's finger traced her lips, before stroking through her hair, while his other hand pressed the gun further into the flesh of her temples. His hands began to wander, his touch fleeting on her neck, her breast, inching his way down her arms. Every touch was like fire in her veins. She could fight back, right now, disarming him in a heartbeat. But despite the faraway look in his eyes, the man looked like he knew how to use a gun. And if she so much as moved ...

"Yeah, I don't think so, buddy." Betty hadn't realized Jughead had been standing, and while she'd been internally freaking out, he'd managed to untie his legs. He held the chair as a weapon. His eyes were dark, lips twisted with disgust. She'd only seen that expression on his face when he looked at her. "Alright Dimitri, you and I are friends now after spending all day chatting about the things you're going to do to me in frighteningly vivid detail, so how about you let Betty go, hmm?"

The man didn't look fazed. "Pretty boy," he giggled manically. "Hübscher Junge und hübsches Mädchen, sie stirbt, wenn du kämpfst."

Jughead laughed. He was confident, even without a goddamn plan. Betty gritted her teeth, but to her surprise, he dropped the chair. It crashed onto the floor, making her flinch. He held his hands up. "Empty threats, my man. That gun isn't even loaded."

Betty stiffened. "Jones, what are you doing?"

"Setting the record straight! How about you pull the trigger, Dimitri? Show us your gun is loaded."

"Jones!" she squeaked. "Are you crazy?"

"Crazy equals genius, Cooper. Everyone knows that." He nodded to Dimitri. "Go on, dude. Free shot. Prove to me that your gun is loaded."

"Bestimmt," Dimitri said, pushing the barrel deeper.

Certainly.

There was no way the gun wasn't loaded. Fuck. She was dead. Betty squeezed her eyes shut, and was deafened by the BANG of a gun going off. The noise reverberated in her ears, and the feeling of smooth metal slipped from her temples. Betty lifted her head with a sharp gasp, only to see Archie standing there, his cheeks blossoming the same shade of his hair. He was a noticeable mess, crimson curls sticking out in different directions, shirt torn, and lip split. He'd been in a fight, and won. His brown eyes were wild. Dimitri, to her surprise, was on the floor in a slowly stemming pool of scarlet.

"Holy shit, are you guys okay?" Archie's gaze flitted from Betty to Jughead. He moved in to hug her, but Betty flinched away. So he pulled Jughead into a hug instead. Sometimes Betty wondered if one day, Archie might see his colleagues as something more than friends. "What the hell happened?"

After shaking away the disorientation, Betty shakily rose to her feet. She turned to them, accusing eyes stuck to Jughead. "You told him to shoot me!"

Jughead rolled his eyes. "The thing about Dimitri is he loves talking. Keep him talking and you can stave off anything, even death. I distracted him so Andrews could get him in the head." He raised a brow. "You did notice Archie and Veronica behind the door, right?"

Betty shot a look at Archie and then Veronica, who was making her way over, her expression frenzied. Her shirt was ripped, but apart from that, not a hair out of place. Meanwhile, she looked like she'd been scalped. "Yes! Of course I did!"

"Are you sure about that?" Jughead's lips were curled into a teasing smirk. "Because if you did, you wouldn't have accused me of telling him to shoot you."

Betty bit her lip. "Maybe if you were a decent agent, I'd actually trust you."

"Coming from the girl who refused to untie me, wasted precious time, and nearly got the two of us shipped across the world."

She gritted her teeth. "I'm sorry, who got us into this mess in the first place?"

Archie cut in, before they could go further. They stood nose to nose, and despite the smug look on his face, she couldn't help but notice how goddamn blue his eyes were. "We all made mistakes. Can we just go? We need to debrief, and I'm dying for a coffee."

"Nah." Jughead shook his head. "I'd actually really want to know why Cooper here, didn't trust me."

Betty didn't hesitate. "Because one day you're going to get us killed."

He scoffed. "Are you kidding me? Who managed to distract Dimitri while you were having twenty five breakdowns?"

"You don't befriend the enemy!"

"I was gathering intel!"

"Guys." Archie's mocha brown eyes hardened. "Leave it." He nodded at the three of them. "Coffee on me? There's a clean up operation arriving soon, so we have to scatter."

"Amen," Veronica said, grabbing the boy's arm, linking hers through his. The two of them ran back to the car, and Betty was left with Jughead, who was stubbornly staring at the ground. After a few moments of awkward silence, he lifted his head with a smile.

"You dun goofed this time, didn't you, Cooper?"

Unable to hold herself back any longer, she punched him in the face.

Hard.

* * *

"Agents."

It was the tone of Hiram Lodge's voice that put Betty on edge.

Though the hallway outside was long and straight, Hiram Lodge's office was round. Dark wood surrounded her; dim lights hung from a low ceiling. It felt to Betty almost like a cave, except for a tall, slim window where a narrow beam of sunlight came pouring in.

Suddenly, Betty found herself reaching out, wanting to run her hands through the rays. But then someone cleared his throat, a pencil rolled across a desk, and her shoes squeaked again, bringing her back to the moment. Jones stood at her side, and when she shot him a glance, he shrugged, averting his gaze. The boy was pale, and it didn't suit him. Of course Jughead had come to work, like he'd gotten dressed in the dark; a band shirt under a white button down and jeans. He looked like he'd just woken up, peering at Hiram through dark curls hanging in half kidded eyes. He wore a beanie over his bedhead, and she found herself tolerating it. Betty didn't blame him for looking so disheveled. It was barely 8am and they had both been called in early. Though neither of them knew the reason. The man himself sat behind an expensive mahogany desk covered in files, papers and a Macbook sitting idle. Hiram was around her father's age, but he looked barely in his mid-thirties. He was slim with olive skin, dark hair slicked back and a pair of ray-bans sitting over usual stormy eyes. "Agents." he cleared his throat, steepling his fingers. "I trust you two know why you're here."

Betty held her breath. Oh god, this was about the incident. She glanced at Jughead, taking note of his nose which looked a lot better. She'd only dislocated it, and yet he'd dramatized the whole ordeal, as if she'd actually broken it. Jones wasn't looking at her. "We do, sir." He rubbed his nose gingerly. "Uh, about the other day-"

"I didn't break his nose." Betty rushed out.

Jughead tipped his head back. "I'm pretty sure you did. I have the doctors note to prove it."

She couldn't help choking out a laugh. "You went to the doctors? Could you be any more of a -"

"Agents!" Hiram shouted that time, and both of them flinched. "Dear God, stop bickering like children." His glare sharpened. "Are you done?"

"Yes Sir." Betty squeaked, her cheeks going warm. Jughead echoed her words.

"Anyway," Hiram leaned forward in his chair. "That's not why I wanted to see you." he didn't wait for a response, before exhaling. "Two days ago your colleagues Lodge and Andrews were sent to Stonewall Prep, a prestigious Academy for the arts. We sent them undercover to investigate a series of disappearances of agents over the years, from both our branches and many others. The place is a fortress. Nobody can get in or out without a scholarship there, and we trusted our top agents to infiltrate from the inside."

The man tapped his fingers on his desk. "What you need to understand, is whoever runs this place works fast. Lodge and Andrews sent their last report yesterday morning. We expected one last night, and then this morning. But it seems they've gone off the radar."

Jughead went pale, and Betty's stomach twisted. She'd wondered why Archie wasn't at his desk, why Ronnie wasn't harboring her with texts outlining the explicit details of her and Archie's sex life. "Wait, are you saying..."

"Yes, Mr Jones." Hiram sighed. "It appears we've lost contact with them."


	2. Chapter 2

**Diary Log: 2**

**Date: Unknown**

**Year: 2013. **

D_ear Diary,_

_I don't know what's going on. I don't know where I am, and right now, you're the only thing stopping me from losing my mind. All I have is this notepad they gave me, because I've been in here for days. I don't even know who "they" are! They took me from my home, stealing me away in the night. All I see them as are the people in white. Every time they come and give me meals, they have no face. It's hidden by a mask, so I can't even look into the faces of my kidnappers. Nobody will talk to me, and when I try and ask what's going on, I'm ignored. I don't know how many days it's been. I woke up in here, and all I can describe it as is small room with a single bed. The walls and floor are made of white tile. I keep thinking I have lost my mind. Maybe mom brought me here to help me._

_But what for? If she has, where is she? I can't stop thinking about the possibility that my mother has subjected me to a program that will help me. But I'm not crazy? I have anxiety. I suffered from a depressive episode a few months back, but I'm fine now! That's it. There's nothing wrong with me to send me away!_

_So who took me? Thoughts are plaguing me, Diary. I keep going over my memories of that night. Before everything went blurry. I remember getting ready. I remember my pink dress, the sick feeling in my gut. I remember the heels that I had to squeeze into because of my swollen toes. That night, I was alone. Mom was grocery shopping, getting a Christmas tree. Polly and Chic were with friends. It was just me. I couldn't find you, so I grabbed my laptop and started typing an entry. And then, diary? It goes dark._

_So I'm going to bullet point the key factors of that night._

_It was before Winter formal. I remember someone grabbing me and yanking me back. I screamed, but something went over my mouth. Something wet and cold. It smelled like chlorine from a pool. It was strong, tangy and nausea inducing. Someone wrapped their arms around my waist. I felt their breath on my neck. It was a guy. I felt him knock me onto my bedroom floor, pressing pressure onto whatever he had over my mouth. I didn't see his face. I didn't see or hear anything, except from his short gasps for breath. And then? I don't know. I don't remember passing out, but I guess I did._

_This bastard took me. He took me from my family._

_Then I woke up here. In this cold room. There's no heating, and the blanket they gave me is so thin. I shiver at night, and despite my exhausted mind I can't seem to be able to fall asleep. It's been days stuck here. Days. I've counted the tiles on my ceiling and thought up every logical explanation why I'm here. I've been given meals. Mac and cheese for the first night, and then some kind of mystery meat stew for the last three nights. All of my meals are served with a glass of lemonade and a pudding cup, so they're not starving me. Every time I try and think of a reason why I'm here, trapped, a prisoner behind these bland white walls, I cry. I scream. I throw my stupid tray on the floor. But they ignore me. Even when I scream until my throat is raw, until I'm sure I'm going to throw up. Whoever these people are- they let me scream. They let me cry._

_So I stopped. I stopped crying, acting like a child. I'm not giving them the satisfaction of knowing they're hurting me. So I stay silent. I eat my meals when they tell me to, and I lay on my bed and try and think of every possible way I can break out of this room._

_Did I do something wrong? Right now I'm sitting on the bed, and I'm so cold, it's almost painful. They send in clean pairs of clothes every day. A white t-shirt and pants. but I refuse to change into them. I'm staying in this dress. The dress my mother gave me._

_I can't stop shaking, and the pen they gave me is running out, so I need to be quick. I'm going to write in you every single day, because right now, you're the only thing keeping me going crazy. There's a boy in the room next to mine. He's around my age, and he cries a lot. I don't know his name. I don't know why he's here, but I guess he's the same as me. Because he screams for his parents. He screams so loud, Diary, it scares me. I've tried to talk to him, but he just cries. He won't tell me anything about himself, even if I've poured out my life to him. I don't know why I did. He's a stranger. But he's also in the same situation as me. He's scared, like me. he wants his family. Like me._

_It's rare when he's quiet. But when he is, I ask him the same questions. His name. His story. If he knows who these people are, and why they're doing this._

_But he never answers me. And when he does, he just screams at me. He screams at me, and while I understand that he's scared and upset and angry- I can't help but want to shake him. I want to reach through the walls and grab him. As far as I know, it's only the boy and I. I haven't heard anyone else. We should be working together, figuring how to get out of here. We're stronger together. But he wants nothing to do with me. Part of me understands. I'd be like that too. After all, he doesn't have you to write in. I wonder if he has anything to hold onto. Sometimes when I hear him sobbing, I sit back against the wall facing his room and imagine him on the other side. I talk about everything from my botched date with Jughead Jones at Winter formal, to my excitement for Christmas, which could be over and done with for all I know. It started with attempting to engage conversation with him, but after multiple attempts at trying to get him to talk, it's totally fruitless. I tell him about my family, my struggles with anxiety and depression. Even my friends. I tell him about Katy and Sabrina. Last night I just talked about my favourite TV shows. I've realized that talking makes me feel better. I went through all three seasons of The Walking Dead and highlighted the best and worst characters. And he just listened. The boy didn't make a sound for hours, while I talked until I'd ran out of things to say. It was comforting, knowing he was there listening to me._

_Yesterday morning, he woke me up crying for his parents. He said they were dead, that whoever our kidnappers are, killed them. I haven't let the thought even grace my mind that there's a possibility that they did the same to my mom. Because every time I do, my mind goes to a dark place. I pray he's lying, or is delusional. Part of me prays I really am crazy so the boy is too. Which means the things he says are nothing but paranoid delusions. Even if I know I'm wrong. I want to hold onto this possibility for as long as I can. My mom is alive. My beautiful, wonderful mother is at home. She's looking for me, going out of her mind. She'll never stop looking for me until I'm safe in her arms._

_My mom is alive._

_**MY MOM IS ALIVE. **_

_I won't think it. I have to remain positive._

_I'm tired now, Diary. I'm going to go to sleep. The boy is silent right now. Hopefully he'll start talking to me soon._

_I'll write tomorrow, I promise._

_Love,_  
_xxxx_

* * *

**Present. **

For Archie, there was only oblivion, accompanied by a low humming noise. Before a voice sliced through, cutting into his swamped thought process. The voice was unfamiliar, but at the same time, it began to slowly lull the agent back to consciousness. There was something about it. It wasn't quite recognition, but Archie could have sworn he'd heard it before. Until then the voice had been behind a barrier in his mind, but as it lit up his ears once again, the barrier started to crumble, but not quite collapsing just yet.

"Now. Shall we begin?"

The world came back to him in a flash, snapping him back into a world that wasn't darkness. The devouring grey that had held him for what felt like a lifetime slowly let go, but he still felt curls of fog wrapped around his mind as he retracted, pulling away from the hungry, starving beast. It was pride and it was vivid, head a whirl of activity with nothing to properly snag onto. Archie jerked involuntarily, his body running on adrenaline, only to find himself immobile. He picked his head up, eyes searching, finding straps pinning his wrists and ankles to the metal table he was laying on. When he blinked the fog from his vision, he glimpsed a man looming over him.

At first it was a faceless figure, a silhouette bathed in light. But as Archie gathered more of himself, tearing his mind from where it had been enveloped in candy floss, the figure became more prominent, bleeding into reality. For a moment, he stared at the man through heavy lidded eyes, his mind already kicking itself into gear as his training kicked in. Archie didn't get kidnapped a lot, but when he did, on those rare occasions he was able to stay calm and assess the situation. His head was spinning, body aching. His vision wasn't great, but he could tolerate it for now. Going down the mental checklist, he checked himself over.

Physical injuries? No.

Pain? Yes.

Brain injury/modification? No. But his memories were fuzzy.

Unable to resist a groan, Archie tugged on the restraints. Velcro straps. Not easy to get out of, but possible. It would take some stalling, and a hell of a lot of squirming. His body seemed to mold into the table, as if it had been specially structured for him. He was mostly naked, except from his boxer shorts. A cool white linen sheet had been thrown over his bottom half, but he still felt exposed. When he struggled again, his bare back flopped helplessly on the icy slab, and he came to the grim conclusion that he was well and truly stuck. The straps pinning his wrists and ankles weren't the usual velcro ones he was used to. These ones were far more sturdy and strict, slicing into his skin when he struggled too much. They held him in place no matter how hard he strained against them.

So he wasn't escaping anytime soon.

Archie swallowed. His throat felt like sandpaper. His head throbbed. The pain felt like someone had taken a knife to his skull. The last thing he remembered was briefing Hiram on his and Veronica's progress in the assignment. He'd ended the call, about to text Jughead an update. After all, the boy got freaked out when he left on assignment without telling him. He'd gotten through half of the text, before something hard had slammed into the back of his head, sending him to his knees. That explained the headache. Though what had he been hit with? It felt like the curve of a fist. His phone had slipped from his hands, and before he knew it, he was falling into the dark.

Which was a first. Archie didn't lose fights with anyone. Period. He was one of the Agency's best fighters, so being knocked out from behind was almost child's play. Normally he was on top of his game, so it didn't make sense that he'd be put down so quickly. Hiram had told him to make sure to mask his identity and not do anything to compromise the mission, but it was basic self defense. Some asshole had come in, somehow without getting his attention, and knocked him out. He hadn't even heard the door open. Could he have been inebriated?

As soon as the thought graced his mind, he ran his tongue over his teeth, sweeping it along the back of his mouth in fluid motions. If he'd been drugged, there would still be excess fluid in the back of his throat. A bitter taste lingering. But he tasted nothing.

"I said, are you ready to begin?"

The gruff voice snapped Archie's attention back to his main problem.

The man standing over him looked to be in his mid forties, with short greying hair and a clean shaven beard. His eyes were grey and droopy, a sure sign that he barely slept, if the dark eye-bags weren't obvious enough. Though it was like a second personality took over. The sudden look on his face was manic, especially when Archie blinked at him. It was like he'd just downed three pints of coffee, grey eyes blowing open with excitement, a chesire cat grin splitting his lips apart, as if the look of discomfort on the boys face was bringing him copious amounts of joy. From first impressions, he resembled a Doctor, blue hospital like-scrubs clinging to a wiry frame, a bleached white lab-coat thrown over the top. Though it wasn't clean. There were very noticeable scarlet smears decorating the front. Archie could identify the colour of blood from a mile away.

It was a cardinal colour, meaning it was old. He didn't get scared easily, but knowing this crazy bastard was covered in blood, hiding under the seemingly perfect facade of an Arts academy sent shivers down his spine. Was this where the missing agents were? He let out a shuddery breath, twisting his head to take in his surroundings.

The place he'd found himself in had a sterile smell to it that tingled in his nose. It was built like a mad scientists laboratory; bright, far too bright for Archie's eyes. Everything seemed to be lit up in smoldering golden light. Every surface was glass and metal, test tubes and beakers glistening on steel surfaces.

There were screens dotting the perimeter displaying readings he couldn't make sense of.

Yep. Archie swallowed a groan. Definitely a mad scientist's laboratory. What was this? Was Stonewall experimenting on its students?

When Archie turned his head, there was a line of metal slabs either side of him. Beside each one, including his, was a futuristic looking machine which was the source of the humming noise, growing louder, like a swarm of wasps were nestling inside his skull. He narrowed his eyes, and fuck, that was painful.

Every time he so much as slitted his eyes, a dull throbbing pounded in the forefront of his socket. But he'd been taught to repress pain. Especially during a mission.

What were the machines for?

They reminded him of television screens. But instead of a screen, there were only buttons and dials in lines of ten, wires attached to the top and bottom. They didn't look threatening, but everything else did. The place screamed some kind of experimentation room, what with the beds, the lines of silver instruments glinting on every surface. Stonewall were doing something to their students, as well agents that came in undercover and went missing.

But what were they doing to them?

Archie's eyes swivelled back to the strange man, who was practically vibrating with elation, his fingers gripping the steel sides of the bed, knuckles turning white. The almost childlike expression on the man's face was very quickly overshadowed by a look of triumph. Jekyll and Hyde, Archie thought dizzily. This man was a living embodiment. He was seeing childish joy on his face, which broke into a stony exterior that almost took his breath away. The Strange Case Of Dr Jekyll And Mr Hyde was one of Jughead's favourite books. He half wondered if his friend would cater better in his position. After all, Jug was fascinated by the concept of the novel; two personalities existing in the same body. But instead of good and evil, he only saw joy and exhaustion. A child and a merciless man.

The Doctor leaned forward, eyebrows waggling. "Do I have your attention, Agent?"

For a moment, he was confused enough to give himself away, but before he could utter a word, Archie bit his tongue. His eyes widened, lips twisting in terror. It was usually easy to slip back into the role of his alias, but with a foggy head, it took him a few moments to fully grasp it. "What's going on?" he whimpered, yanking at the restraints. He lifted his head, blinking rapidly. Calm. He had to stay calm. This was the most helpless he'd ever been. Hell, he felt like Jughead. Since his best friend had a track record for getting himself captured. Even if he'd already surveyed his surroundings and gotten a good picture of where he was, Archie still had to play his role. His voice was a croak that he didn't have to fake, a barely comprehensible rasp. "Where am I?"

The Doctor chuckled. He leaned closer, brushing strands of Archie's hair from his eyes. He trembled at the man's touch, his icy fingertips sending shivers rattling down his spine. "It's funny," he murmured. "Hiram Lodge truly does send his best, doesn't he? Though you're not as smart as you think you are, Agent." his fingers tiptoed across Archie's forehead before carding through his hair, grasping hold of his scalp, crimson curls bleeding through his knuckles. He tugged violently and Archie had to bite back a scream. His breath tickled the boys cheeks when he laughed. "That is a terrible Australian accent, Agent. Did you really think I'd believe that you were this..." he trailed off, pulling something from his coat pocket. Archie winced. It was the fake passport he'd used to get in, along with his personal statement. "Chai London." the man read out, raising a brow. "It says here you're an Australian exchange student whose passion is singing, and the guitar. You scored a perfect 4.0 in your SAT's."

Archie nodded eagerly. "Yes!" he hissed out, squirming in the restraints. "So, what's this, huh? Do you do this to every kid who comes here?"

The Doctor didn't reply. But he did slip something out of his other pocket, and Archie recognised it automatically. It melded perfectly into the man's hand, sleek metal sticking to his palm. It was his gun. Before he could say anything, the man was dangling something over his face, it tickled his cheek. The wire he'd been wearing to keep in contact with the agency. The man's smile only broadened. "let's be straight with each other, Agent Andrews," he said. "Can you do that for me? I don't care for liars."

Archie glared at the man, dropping the alias. He gritted his teeth. "How do you know my name?" he dropped the accent automatically, and the doctor clapped his hands together.

"That's it! See, I knew you could do it, boy." he said. "My name is Dr. Forsythe Pendleton Jones, and you, Agent Andrews, are going to join my school."

"I'm good," Archie gritted out. "I graduated last year, so I'm done with school. Besides, I won't fit in. I suck at math, and, uh- I've never been able to understand chem."

FP was buzzing around him, making sure the linen sheet was covering his bottom half, prodding his forehead, and grabbing silver instruments, holding each one to the light. It felt like he was in a cartoon, and this man was truly a mad scientist. Jughead would be both thrilled and horrified. "Nonsense, boy! We recruit our kids on their unique abilities, and you've proved to be quite the asset. We only take special children."

Children?! Was this asshole serious?

Archie scoffed. His patience was beginning to wear thin, and the likelihood of escaping was crumbling with every attempt he made at the restraints. He wasn't one to lose his cool. Betty and Jughead were the hothead's, managing to lose it on assignments and give into their emotions. But he was able to keep his mind clear, his objective in clarity. But there was something about the gleam in the doctor's eye that was sending his heart into his throat. "I'm not even a kid! Are you kidding me? I turn twenty next year!"

Struggling was fruitless. The restraints were too tight. Despite his racing heart, Archie forced himself to stay calm. Even when every few seconds his gaze flittered to the blood stains on Dr. Pendleton's coat, before landing on each metal bed complete with restraints. He didn't hesitate. If he was going to end up like the missing agents, then he had to dig for intel before it was too late. "Ten agents have gone missing while going undercover at this school," he said calmly. "What have you done to them?"

"All in good time, agent." FP said. He straightened up, his gaze taking all of the boy in. He almost looked proud. And it was that look of pride, happiness, that made Archie's gut twist. "You'll make a fine addition to my student body." He said, before turning and facing the machine next to the bed. His fingers danced across each button with confidence, before a whirring noise sounded. Archie looked up to see a small TV screen being lowered in front of him. It reminded him of a portable TV he'd find on an airplane or the back of a fancy Uber. The screen was black. But the green light on the side indicated that soon enough, it would be switched on. Archie tried to turn away from the screen, but the man was suddenly grasping his temples, forcing him to face forwards, towards the screen. Panic ignited inside of him, but no matter how much he struggled, he couldn't move his head. FP held him in a vice grip, pressing harder when he cried out. It was agony spiking in his temples, the type of pain he couldn't endure.

"Now, Archie Andrews, you may not remember me," FP hummed. "But, hell, do I remember you. How could I miss that red hair?"

The Doctor's words sent Archie's thoughts into a tailspin. His mind was suddenly a surging perplexity. He let go of the cool exterior he'd been hiding behind, making way for what he really was. Terrified. "What?" he managed to utter. He tried to sit up, tried to shake his head from the man's grip, but the doctor only tightened his grip. "Get off me, asshole!" he finally snapped, tears stinging his eyes. It was one thing to know his Agent name, but his full name?

"How do you know my name?" And when he didn't answer, the boy let out a sharp cry, grappling with the restraints. "Answer me! How do you know-"

"All will be revealed, Archie. Now listen very carefully." Dr. Pendleton's voice was in his ear. "You will comply with this procedure. I need you to think clear thoughts, or this won't work. If you refuse to follow these basic instructions I'm going to give you, then I'm afraid you'll end up like your dear companion Miss Lodge."

Fear spiked his chest. His voice shook. "What did you do to her?"

"See for yourself." The Doctor forced his head to turn away from the screen, and Archie glimpsed a section of the laboratory he hadn't seen yet. There were mostly tables with piles of paperwork and filing cabinets, but on table much like his own, was Agent Lodge. Veronica. Her bed was at an angle, as if Dr. Pendleton had left her mid-procedure. She could be identified through an explosion of sleek black curls spread around her in a halo. Veronica too was covered in a linen sheet, but it was splattered crimson. The girls eyes were closed, the bottom half of her face a horror show. There was blood everywhere, staining her lips, nose and ears. Archie could see she was still breathing from the shallow rise and fall of her chest, but only just. He could only gape at the girl, before the doctor forced him to look back at the screen, and the motion send his head spinning.

"She didn't see the dots," Dr. Pendleton said gravely. "So we had to dig deep, Agent Andrews. But don't worry. Miss Lodge found them in the end."

"Dots?" Archie whispered. "What are you talking about, what dots?"

The doctor cleared his throat. "That would be spoiling things, Agent. Now, I want you to look at the screen. You'll feel an uncomfortable sensation, but I just want you to find three dots for me. Can you do that?"

He didn't have a choice. The TV was switched on, and Archie squinted. The humming got louder in his ears. "I don't see anything." He managed to choke out.

But as soon as his gaze landed on the screen, on the static, it suddenly felt like phantom hands were wrapping themselves around him, tugging him closer. When he blinked, the static wasn't just on the screen, it was in his vision, becoming much more prominent. He wanted to turn away, to shut his eyes. But something stopped him. Something was drowning out the cry in the back of his head. Archie relaxed in the restraints, his thoughts going blank. The humming was edging closer, burying itself into his brain. But it no longer bothered him. "The dots, Agent." Dr. Pendleton's voice, compared to everything else, was in morbid clarity. "Do you see them?"

"No." the word slipped from his mouth so suddenly. The humming rose to a high pitched squeak, then a screech. The static wavered. Archie squinted as shapes began to slowly materialise through the fuzz. Something warm slipped from his nose. Then his ears. Dr. Pendleton cursed under his breath and the high pitched noise only got higher, while blood slipped through his lips and dribbled down his chin in scarlet streams. "How about now?" the doctor's voice sounded like it was underwater. "Tell me now, Archie. Do you see them?"

The static was getting smaller, while the shapes grew bigger. The overhead light blew out, but the Doctor paid no attention, digging deeper. "Now?"

"No." This time spoken through a mouthful of blood, the boy began to shake erratically, his arms and legs spasming while blood pooled from every orifice. His eyelids flickered, but failed to stray from the screen. But there was nothing. No dots.

"Fuck," the man's voice was in his ears, but it made no sense to him. The high pitched noise reached its climax and all the while Archie was delving through the static, the command only getting louder, forcing him to dig deeper. He coughed, choking out a breath, blood spattering the linen cough. Dr. Pendleton began to hiss in frustration. The line of beakers on the other side of the room blew up, glass showering the air. Doctor Pendleton cursed, trembling hands going to the machine, twisting every dial, flicking every switch. The high pitched noise wavered, becoming a whistling, then a shrieking, before collapsing into nothing. At least to the doctor's ears.

Archie could still hear it. A barely coherent ringing which as still there, rooted inside of him, burying itself deeper.

Another beaker exploded.

"Try harder, boy!"

He was trying. He was pushing through the pain, every logical thought being burned through, singed by that very command spoken minutes ago. The boy began to sag, lips trying and failing to cry for help. Cry out for his parents. Though it was that silent scream which was what knocked his unresponsive mind into fruition. They were there suddenly, appearing one after the other. Three pulsating dots dancing in the static. Dr. Pendleton turned and twisted a dial on the machine to maximum. The ringing noise collapsed into a screech. Archie's mouth opened, but no scream came out. There was only blood, slipping from his lips. Even when his brain felt like it was bursting, his voice wouldn't come. There were only the dots. They were all he could focus on. "Archie, do you see them now?"

The boy stopped shaking, flopping back down on the steel slab. Though his eyes were open, warm browns still glued to the screen. "Yes." He whispered, unblinking.

"I see them."

"Very good. Stay still." The Doctor heaved out an excited breath.

Archie didn't need to be told twice. He stared at the pulsing dots, watched them spin and dance around him, bulging in and out of the screen. Though it wasn't just the dots that he was focusing on. Through them, he was seeing words. They stood out to him, almost as clearly as the dots;

**Paul Briarwood. 457 Sunnydale lane.**

**Samantha Collins. 89 Maple wood Avenue.**

**Christopher Conrad. 56 Horsewell Drive.**

**Jennifer Matchwood. 100 Scar Lane. **

The names didn't mean anything to Archie, but he continued to stare at them as they flickered across the screen, while the dots danced around him, pulsating green, orange and yellow. They glowed brighter, multiplying into fives and tens, then crumbling back to threes. The names disappeared suddenly, but it didn't faze him. He went back to watching the dots. He was barely conscious of something sharp being stuck into the back of his head. It didn't hurt. The agony was quickly masked, and all he felt was the sudden intrusion. "Keep looking at the dots, Agent." Dr Pendleton's voice was clear again.

He did. The sensation of something sharp prodding around his skull barely bothered him, and Archie only focused on the dots. "You're doing incredibly well, Archie."

The boy didn't move. He didn't blink. He only stared at the dots.

* * *

So, Indigo definitely wasn't her colour.

Frowning at the mirror, Betty didn't like what she saw. The fact that the public bathroom mirrors were cracked and covered in lipstick stains, as well the pathetic light only just managing to light up the din, might have been factors to why she looked so awful. But after several poses, and an attempt at making the uniform look at least semi-presentable, Betty had come to the conclusion that nothing could save it. Stonewall Academy's uniform was perhaps the most unflattering thing she'd ever seen.

Her eyes narrowed at her reflection split in two. The skirt was far too short. It was pleated, just about reaching above her knees, while white socks were pulled up her legs, like stockings. The white shirt was fitted and far too small for her, and she was sure the cardigan had been swamped in fire ants before she'd picked it up. Betty let her blonde hair hang loose for once, and did an awkward twirl, yanking her skirt lower. She looked noticeably younger. Stonewall Academy accepted students all the way till they were 22, but she still felt weird. It felt like stepping back into High school. But her memories of school were mostly blurry, swamped in mystery. Apparently she'd suppressed most of it.

Tugging at the cardigan, Betty scowled at herself. After receiving the news that Archie and Veronica were missing, she'd jumped at the opportunity to go in after them. But since Jughead Jones was Hiram's best agent, it appeared that she'd be getting a companion.

Judging from how she looked in the uniform, Betty had no doubt the boy would start his relentless teasing. But she would swallow the urge to actually break his nose this time, and rise above his childishness. After one last look at herself, Betty grabbed her bag, stuffing her usual work clothes into it, and pushing through the door, back into the early November chill. The temperature had dropped noticeably in the past few days, but the onset of rain and a northern wind had made it icy. With no break in the greyness above the chance of a let up was slim to zero. It was going to be a rainy day and no amount of pleading with the gods was going to change that.

Betty wished she'd brought a jacket. Her skirt flittered in the building breeze, and she fought back a squeak.

Now would be the time when Archie would make a joke, laughing at how ridiculous she looked. Betty's heart ached. Her best friend was god knows where, stuck inside some prestigious academy which was known for swallowing agents. Betty hadn't even known about it, or the disappearances, until the series of meetings and briefings she'd been in this morning. Stonewall Academy was responsible for the vanishings of ten agents over the past year, with Andrews and Lodge taking the number to twelve.

The place, according to Hiram, was a fortress. Nobody got in without a full scholarship and ID check. Her and Agent Jones's infiltration was a last resort. If they fell too, he would storm it himself. Though Hiram's words confused her. Why would he sent more of his agents in, despite so many suffering the same fate?

Shaking the thought from her mind, Betty focused on the present. She had to concentrate.

The town square was packed with the afternoon commute and it took Betty a few moments to pull him out of the crowd, fighting to see through the whirlwind of blonde as the wind took hold of her hair. Agent Jones stood with his back against the window of a Starbucks which was lit up in the drizzle. There was something so safe, so relaxing about a coffee shop illuminating the haze. Jughead had changed into the uniform too, but somehow, of course he suited it. The splash of indigo contrasted with his raven hair, which was eye catching. He wore the same colour sweater with the school crest and black pants. Jones looked seventeen again.

The boy was battling with his own hair, struggling to keep it tucked under his beanie. Once his hair was tamed, he leaned back and tipped his head back, closing his eyes.

Was he seriously tuning out in the middle of an assignment?

Huffing out a breath, Betty started forwards, spitting her spiralling hair from her mouth. She strode over to him, and it was only when she was clicking her fingers in front of his face when he blinked, looking up at her. Confusion made way for amusement, his lips curving into a smirk. He whistled. "Looking good, Cooper."

She narrowed her eyes. "The uniform looks stupid. Yeah, I get it. I've seen it, Jones."

The boy straightened up, his blue eyes sweeping over every inch of her. He folded his arms. "Hey, I didn't say it looked bad," he teased. "You look like a naughty school girl."

Betty felt her cheeks flush. She couldn't help it, punching him in the shoulder.

"Ow!" Jughead's expression crumpled. "I was being nice!"

Betty wanted to say more, explain to him that she already felt like an idiot, walking around in a school uniform which looked like it had been plagiarised from some crude Anime. The skirt was ridiculously short and she hated it. Instead, she shook her head. "Hiram says we're all set. I have our fake paperwork in my bag, so we should go. It's a half hour drive to the Academy and we're meeting a driver down the block."

Jughead nodded. "Right. But first I need coffee, or I'm going to pass out."

Betty bit her lip. "Archie and Veronica are missing, and you want a latte?"

The boy held her gaze, his lip curling. It began to rain, cold slithers sliding down her back. She shivered, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her. "It's a coffee, Cooper. Arch is my brother. Believe me, all I want to do is find him," his eyes grew dark, and it was then when Betty realised how much Archie's disappearance had affected him. "He always comes for me when I'm kidnapped, so you can bet I'm saving his and Lodge's ass." He shrugged with a small smile.

"But I'm not going to be much use without a caffeine fix."

"You wouldn't be any use with a caffeine fix." Betty grumbled, ducking her head in the shower.

The rain was only dampening her already sour mood. She missed Archie and Veronica. Jones was goddamn insufferable. She expected more snipe. though Jughead only laughed which infuriated her further. He gestured to the coffee shop, and her mouth watered. She had barely eaten anything all day. A cream cheese pastry and mocha hot chocolate sounded so good right now. "What do you want?" His blue eyes twinkled with that familiar tease, pressing his lips together in a smirk. "Sailor Moon."

Betty glared. "I've met rocks funnier than you."

"I'm flattered." the boy pushed away from the wall, pulling out his wallet. "Last chance, Cooper." he waved a twenty. "I'll treat you to a coffee that's a whole dollar."

Betty felt like grabbing the note out of his hand and ripping it to pieces. Insults burned on her tongue, but she held them back. She would be the better person, and prove to Hiram that she was a far more superior agent. "I'll have a hot chocolate."

Jughead headed towards the door, skipping over a puddle. "Hot chocolate it is. Cream and Marshmallows, partner?"

Her lips pursed. "We're not partners. If anything, you're an annoying toddler I have to bring to work, since your usual babysitter is MIA."

The boy pouted. "You kill me, Cooper. Seriously, though. Cream and marshmallows?"

Betty pulled her best fake smile, complete with teeth. "Sure. Go crazy."

"If you say so!" He shot her a smile before bounding into the Starbucks, leaving her to bare the brunt of the brewing storm. Betty found mediocre shelter under a dry cleaners roof opposite the Starbucks. The chill was biting and she bent over herself, her fingers nestled in the creases of her skirt, stopping it from flying up. It was only when she looked up, blinking through the haze that had settled in the air, did she notice something flapping in the wind. The movement caught her eye. When she squinted, Betty realized it was a poster stuck to a street light with ancient sticky tape.

The corners of the poster were curled and yellowing with age, most of the colour faded. But the words MISSING GIRL jumped out at her in bold. The name was was blanked out with age, but the photograph was still clear; an unsmiling girl, around fifteen or sixteen. She had pale skin, blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, and dark eyes. Betty squinted at the poster, trying to make sense of the name, but the girl's name was completely rubbed out, save for smudges of black marker pen. Betty stared. There was something about the young girl that sent pangs in her chest. She had half a mind to rip it off the street light and properly study it. But that was stupid, right? It was just a missing poster.

So why was her heart aching?

"Looks like I'm not the only one who needs a coffee, Cooper."

Betty blinked. Jughead was standing in front of her, his dark hair an array of curls spilling from his beanie, blue eyes glinting in the din, his usual teasing smile spread across his lips. Betty staggered a little, letting go of a breath. It was like coming out of a trance. She could feel the rain dancing across her cheeks, the wind playing with her skirt. it took her a moment to realise she'd walked halfway across the town square. She was inches from the missing poster. Jughead was frowning, holding two Starbucks cups.

The boy cocked his head, following her lingering gaze. "Whatcha looking at?"

"Nothing." Shaking her head, Betty tore her gaze from the poster, and took the drink gratefully, nursing her hands around it. When she took an experimental sip, there was only the bitter taste of black coffee. Normally, she would spit it out and pour the damn thing over his head, but the bitterness of the coffee was a distraction from the missing poster, which she couldn't seem to shake. Fixing the boy with a steel stare, Betty gestured to her drink. "You can't even get a simple coffee order right."

"What?" Jughead stopped sipping his coffee. "You said go crazy!"

She couldn't help it. "I said hot chocolate. How is that anywhere close to a black coffee?" and then the words were slipping out before she could help them. "We've known each other two years, and you still don't know my Starbucks order?"

He folded his arms. "We're not exactly close."

"We share friends, which makes us mutuals. Every time we go out, you take unnecessary attention of my order, so why is now that you're messing up?"

Jughead shrugged. "I'm forgetful." he pouted. "Be grateful I even spent money on you. You nearly broke my nose."

Betty swallowed a scream. "I didn't break your nose, you fucking moron," she gritted out. "I barely touched you."

The boy's lip curled. "Archie says there was blood everywhere."

She folded her arms. The rain was thinning, but the damage was already done. Her hair hung in damp rat tails, her cardigan practically glued to her skin. "Archie is scared of blood," she couldn't help spitting at the boy. "He freaked when I got a paper cut, and nearly passed out. He thinks a smidge of the stuff is a lot."

Jughead's eyes flashed. "Why can't you just admit that you hurt me?"

Betty huffed. "Hurt you? Are the goddamn twelve?" she bit back the rest, taking a deep breath. "As fun as arguing with you is, we need to start the assignment," she hissed. "So pull your head out of your ass, stop trying to be funny, and act professional. The only way we're going to find Lodge, Andrews and the other agents is to keep a clear head."

"Professional?" He laughed harshly. "Please. You're the least professional person I know."

"Oh, really?" her blood was boiling. "Maybe if you actually did your job properly, and weren't kidnapped for the thousandth goddamn time, then maybe," she let out a laugh which struck her chest. "Maybe Archie and Veronica might have been able to concentrate on their Stonewall assignment? But no, Jones! They were worrying about you! Why do you think they went missing, huh? Because they spent a whole day prior looking for you!"

She wasn't making sense, but the words came thick and fast, pouring out of her before she could stop them. The words were cruel and cutting, meant to hurt. But Betty knew when she stepped over the line. Jughead looked like he'd been slapped, his eyes flashing with hurt. The worst thing she could have done was bring up his best friend. Betty knew the two of them were close, it wasn't her place to drag Andrews into it. She was wrong. The assignment to retrieve Jughead had nothing to do with Lodge and Andrews going missing, and she wanted to tell him that. But when she tried, her throat choked up. Betty took a haphazard gulp of her coffee, wincing at the burn on her tongue. But it was better than trying to apologize. It was the first time in a while that he didn't have a comeback.

"We should go." Jughead said after a moment of silence. Before Betty could speak, he was fashioning his usual smile, but his eyes were dark. He turned on his heel, clearing his throat. But Betty wasn't a stranger to hiding a sob. His voice was gruff, and she suddenly wanted to grab his hand and squeeze it. Betty wanted to tell the boy not to worry about their friends, she wanted to smile reassuringly and bump his shoulder.

But Betty didn't do any of those things. She cast her eyes to the ground, her grip on her coffee tightening, until the cup cracked under pressure. Jughead let out a shaky laugh, turning to her, that dumb smile once again teasing the edges of his lips.

"What are you waiting for?" he murmured, grabbing her arm. But his grasp was gentle. Betty didn't have the heart to pull away.

"Lets go, Sailor Moon."

* * *

Stonewall Academy would be Betty's dream school if she wasn't a spy.

It rose from behind the trees like a mountain, ominous and foreboding. Dark brick with ornate details inlaid in the cement and mortar, twisting vines crawling up the sides, like the ground itself was trying to pull it downward. But no matter how chilling and dreadful it looked, it actually looked ... beautiful. The architecture was old and worn with age, wrought iron fencing melding with the pretty bricks. Flowers and trees grew wild, but were tamed into lots, bursts of colour and fragrance as you walked by.

Stonewall might have looked pretty on a Summer's day, but underneath a grey sky, the school resembled a Gothic mansion from a timely movie or TV show. Betty focused on ivy wrapped around each building, twisting up and down redbrick. The grounds themselves were pretty, surrounded by a large patch of grass. A path of smooth red stone cut through the lawn. Betty walked slowly, her heart in her throat. Their argument from earlier was still ringing in her ears. Jughead hadn't spoken for most of the car ride. He'd spent the first twenty minutes trying sleep against the window, and after shuffling uncomfortably, tossing and turning, he attempted to make broken conversion with the driver. Which went as she'd expected. Jughead cracked jokes, and the Uber laughed along, while discreetly cracking up the station he was listening to.

No doubt to block Jones out.

"Nice school." Jughead's voice brought her out of it. He kicked through a pile of leaves, his usual smile plastered on his lips. He let out a sigh, looking content.

"This would be my first choice school if I hadn't become a spy."

Betty couldn't help herself. "You would have been better here," she sent him a smirk. "Obviously, if the school was normal, and wasn't kidnapping Agents."

She expected him to snap something back, but he shrugged, chuckling. "And you'd rescue me, right?"

Betty scoffed, pulling her damp cardigan around her. The early evening breeze was chilling her to the core. "It's my job, idiot."

"Are you cold?"

Betty shook her head, even when yes, she was freezing to death. "I'm okay."

"Sure?" He whistled. "This Stonewall sweater is nice and toasty."

Betty shook her head stubbornly. "I said I'm fine."

It had stopped raining. The day was bleeding into nightfall, the sky was darkening, milky white clouds streaked across the horizon, chasing the first glints of sunset. Betty was scanning the grounds, glimpsing the famous school colours, a blur of indigo. Stonewall's grounds were mostly empty, bar straggling students in the school colours. Betty couldn't help notice they moved as one, swarms of boys and girls with their heads down. She glanced down at her uniform, wincing at her skirt. At least they blended in. While she looked like a drowned rat, Jones had managed to stay dry. Jughead followed her gaze. "That's not weird at all." he muttered, leaning closer to her.

"Maybe they're all really good friends?"

"That close?" Betty mused. "They're practically stuck together."

Her gaze strayed on a particular group of students. None of them were talking, or laughing. They weren't even holding books, or had backpacks. "What type of school is this?" she nodded at the cluster of Stonewall kids. "They don't even have bags."

To her irritation, Jughead laughed. As usual, he wasn't taking the assignment seriously. Which wasn't surprising. "That's reaching, Cooper."

Betty sent the boy a scowl. "You don't think it's the least bit weird that none of them have bags? Look at them, they're stumbling around like Walkers."

Jughead cocked his head. "Walkers?"

Letting out a hiss of frustration, she turned on the boy. "The Walking Dead?"

When the boys eyebrows dipped in confusion, Betty rolled her eyes. "Are you absolutely sure you weren't born in a laboratory?" She quickened her pace down the pathway, her gaze straying on the kids moving across the grounds. Jughead followed her, grabbing her arm. "We need to settle on an alias," he murmured. "I figured Mr Lodge would give us them with the paperwork, but he says everything is taken care of. When I asked about our names, he said, and I quote, "You've got an imagination, haven't you? Think of one yourself."

Betty frowned. "Wait, won't our new names be on the paperwork?"

"That's what I said." Jughead scuffed his shoes on the gravel. "But he ignored me."

"Sounds like Hiram," Betty sent him a pointed look, cocking a brow. "But this time he did it to you? His Golden Boy?"

Jughead ignored her. He tipped his head back. "Names." he said. "We need to make up an alias, so we don't get caught. Nothing close to our actual names."

No shit!

"Lizzie," she said, without thinking. "Lizzie Carpenter."

Jughead hummed. "Nice. You sound like a fifty-five year old recluse with nine cats."

Ignore him, Betty told herself.

"How about you?"

"Will Faraday."

Sending him a look, Betty held the boys gaze. "You sound like a pretentious YA protagonist."

That might have been the point Jughead would snap something back, but he'd stopped kicking his way through multicoloured leaves strewn across the path. Betty skidded to a halt too, glancing at the raven-head. "Jones?" her chest clenched at his expression. His eyes had grown turbulent, lips twisting. He'd stiffened completely, icy eyes settling on something in the distance. Betty followed the boy's gaze. At first, she saw nothing. Only the foreboding gate that led into the school's reception.

There were a line of picnic benches, still glistening from the rainfall, trees loomed over each one, skeletal of leaves. But then she saw it. The familiar blur of red, those crimson curls that stood out in a crowd. They could only be one person, and Betty felt the breath leave her lungs.

"Archie."

Jughead was taking off running before she could fully wrap her head around the situation. Betty had no choice to follow him, but her legs were shaking. When she caught up to her partner, Betty lost her breath. Neither of them were seeing things. Agent Andrews was in front of her, and it was Archie. All of him. Every piece of him the two of them loved, was here. His red hair ruffled under a blue beanie, freckled pale cheeks and a confused smile curved on his lips. He wore the Stonewall colours, the same dark blue sweater as Jughead. The boy was sitting on the bench table, legs crossed, a guitar held expertly. He was plucking it, nodding his head to the melody.

Betty was speechless. She wasn't expecting...this. Agent Andrews hadn't reported back in three days, so she expected foul play. But the boy seemed better than ever. His cheeks were bright, warm mocha browns blinking at the two of them.

Jughead was first to speak. "What the actual fuck is this?" he spat. "Do you know how worried we've been?" his voice was choking up, and Betty didn't blame the boy. "Cooper and I have been worried sick, and you're sitting here playing fucking Wonderwall?"

Archie cocked his head, and a shiver slithered down Betty's spine. There was something in the boys eyes, a glint she didn't recognise. Without thinking, she reached out for the boys hand, but Jughead wrenched it away. He was seething, his cheeks blossoming scarlet.

"Jones," Betty took a step backward. It felt like her heart had been wrenched out of chest. At first glance, she had seen Archie. She had seen her best friend. But when she looked closer, everything she'd known was gone. It was subtle. So subtle. His smile was the same, friendly eyes turning her insides out as usual. But something was wrong.

God, she had to stay professional. Betty had to keep herself together. Maybe Jones's emotions were affecting her, because her eyes were stinging, vomit searing her throat.

"Jughead." Betty finally managed to choke out. "Jughead, stop."

But the boy wasn't listening. "You could have contacted us, Archie!"

"Jones. Listen to me, " Betty gritted out again, but her next words choked at the back of her throat when Archie finally spoke. Betty couldn't tear her gaze from the boys eyes. "I'm sorry," the boys expression creased with confusion. He shuffled uncomfortably, his fingers nervously running over the guitars strings. "Do I know you guys?"

* * *

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	3. Chapter 3

Diary Log: 3

Date: Unknown

Year: 2013.

Dear Diary,

I have so much to tell you, but not much time.

This is going to be short. They've started turning my light out at night, so I can no longer write in you as much as I want to. My days are dull, and they feel timeless. Like I'm stuck in an endless cycle for eternity. It's slowly driving me mad. I feel less crazier now I have a friend. Sort of. The boy is still very quiet. He doesn't scream that much anymore. Or cry, which is a relief. His crying used to keep me up all night. His endless yelling and screaming/ punching the walls. But now he's calmed down a little. I like to think it's because I make sure to talk to him, greeting him every morning like we're roommates in a normal situation. It's been days of complete isolation now. I'm only let out to go to the bathroom, or to have my daily tests. The tests are simple. They take me into a room with the same white walls and flooring. The same harsh light blinding me. It's like a doctor's surgery. It has a bed, a desk and a weighing scale.

So far, I've had two tests in different variations. They told me I'll be having physical tests to strengthen my body, as well as mental ones to stimulate my mind. I don't dare ask why I'm having these tests, since I've come to learn that speaking without being spoken to is a direct insult on their part. So I keep quiet. I let them prod and poke me.

I'm no longer called by name.

Instead, I'm a number. Number 328.

328\. My identity is gone. To them, I'm a slab of meat they think they can mould.

But I know my name, Diary. Even if they try and erase it, I know who I am.

The Doctor's name is Doctor Jones. He's not a talker, but the cruel smile that twists his lips when he's shoving me onto the weighing scale tells me everything I need to know. The physical tests are like a normal health check. But more extreme. I'm told to strip, which I refuse to do every time. They've already taken my mothers dress away and left me with plain sweaters and shorts. Which really does make me wonder if I truly am in a psychiatric ward. Did something happen the night of Winter formal? All I remember is being suffocated by a clammy hand over my mouth, a strong weight crushing my lungs. I was kidnapped. I need to keep telling myself that. I don't deserve to be here, and there's no reason to be here anyway. When it comes to the tests, I'm forced to be completely exposed. It kills me, Diary. I want to scream and claw Doctor Jones' eyes out.

I froze up when they told me to. I fell to my knees and just sobbed. It felt like I couldn't breathe, like all of the air had been sucked out of my lungs. For the first time since coming here I broke down in front of them. I finally gave them the satisfaction they so clearly wanted. Now they know I can be broken. They will take my splintered pieces and put them back together the way THEY want. And I can't stop them. I might have been able to stave off Doctor Jones and his sadistic smile, but sooner or later they're going to ignore my screams. At first they were cruel. They dragged me to my feet and told me to stop acting like a child. But when I was unresponsive, when I curled into a ball and didn't move a muscle, screaming at them not to touch me, that's when they gave in and let me have my way. Though I don't see it as a win. It's my basic human rights. Maybe it's because I screamed too loud. Maybe it's because I made sure I was heard.

For whatever reason, I was given mercy.

I'm their prisoner. Who they can control, like I'm some kind of puppet. But at least they had the decency to bring in a female nurse for my full body check up. I expected her to be kinder, but her eyes are icy, her expression hard. She reminds me of a robot despite being quite pretty. She's my mom's age with blonde hair tied into a strict bun. Her movements are slow. Her touch harsh. I'm supposed to call her Nurse Smith. But I don't speak. The nurse weighs me, measures my height and checks me over. In the chair, she sticks plastic suctions to my temples and tells me to empty my mind, while her bright red fingernails dance across a complex looking device in her hand. I never feel anything. I expect to be electrocuted, like in the movies. But it's just uncomfortable. The worst part is the bees. It sounds like bees are burrowing their way inside me every time she switches her hand held machine on. I've never liked bees, so I seize up a lot.

Sometimes it feels like she's looking directly into my brain. Nurse Smith never says much during the tests. And they're all the same. The same thing, every day. My weight, height, and diet. As well as sitting in the chair with the electrodes stuck to my temples and try and empty my thoughts the best I can. She only says the kind of things I expect, like "Lift your arms up" or "turn around". Yesterday, they told me they're starting me on a fruit and vegetable diet. Which means no more lumpy pudding and mystery meat. Should I be relieved? Maybe I really am losing it, but the banana pudding tastes less like cardboard as the days go by. I like the color of it. Yellow. Pretty yellow. I guess I will miss it.

As for the rest of my tests, it's like being at school. A few days go an escort brought me a desk, a chair and a pile of test papers. I was given a black pen, and told to complete every single one. There must have been fifty. I fell asleep between then, complex questions twisting my mind into knots. They weren't normal test questions, like English and Math. Some of them were in different languages, telling me to solve equations that I'd never come across before. There was a writing exam that simply told me to copy down a passage word for word. I can't remember what it said, but it made me feel nauseous. The words hit like words shouldn't. They're not supposed to have that effect on me- but they did. How can words make me sick? How can three lines make my head spin, my stomach twist and turn? It doesn't make sense, Diary. Nothing makes sense here. I feel like I've gone down the rabbit hole in Wonderland. Everything is backwards.

Everything is confusing. They call this Phase One.

Whatever that means.

Then there are the dots.

I can't explain it without questioning my sanity. The last page of the last test was blank. At the top of the page, all it said was: "Find the dots."

It's been three days, Diary. The tests are still here on my desk. They're waiting for me to finish them, but it's the last page. It's the dots. No matter how hard I try, I can't. I've tried sleep deprivation. Maybe I might be able to find them when I'm not truly looking, when my brain is so tired, so completely exhausted, I'll glimpse them popping out of nowhere. But I can't. It's just blank! IT'S BLANK. I've turned it over, flipping through every page. But there's no dots. I've even gone back to the passage of text that makes me feel sick. Still nothing. I'm starting to think there really are no dots. Maybe it's some kind of sick joke. Maybe they're trying to make me lose my mind.

I think they're succeeding. It's not exactly being unable to find them that's killing me. it's the fact that I can't. That there's this equation I can't solve for the life of me. I've answered every single one, just not the last page. Which means my kidnappers are testing me beyond my ability. It's so strange. Every part of me wants to get out of here and go home, but it's that fucking question that's stopping me. It's like a blockade in my brain, a tentacle wrapped around my thoughts, trapping me, daring me to delve deeper, search further. "Find the dots." It relays in my mind. I can't sleep because of them, Diary. I can barely think straight. Writing to you about my physical tests took my mind off of them for a small while, but they're back, a shadow in the back of my head, waiting to strike. It's like being unable to solve a riddle. When I was in elementary school, all I did was play with riddles and try to solve ciphers in Nancy Drew books. But none of them drove me to the point of crying. None of them gave me headache. The type of pain I've never felt before. It feels like someone is slamming a brick against my temples.

Every time they cross my mind, it gets more painful. It feels like every attempt is an attack on my brain. If I keep pulling at it, relentlessly trying to push through, to find these stupid dots, is my brain going to explode? That's what I have nightmares about.

But I can't stop.

I imagine what these dots look like, painting a picture of them in my mind. Three dancing dots. They're bright yellow, like the wallpaper in my room at home. Like the butterflies still glued to my door from my childhood. Yellow. Why can't I think of any color? Every time I think of them I think of Yellow. Is it crazy that I feel like I'm trying to imagine them into existence? Sometimes I feel like my head is going to explode, dull throbbing pain making me bury my head in my pillows and cry. How can a simple question cause so much pain? How could it effect me like this? It's not like I can stop thinking about them. From the moment I read the line on the page, it was there, latching itself onto my mind. Like a parasite. I need to stop thinking about them or I'll go crazy.

I need to think about something else, like how I'm going to escape. If I don't...I'll start thinking them again, and my mom. I don't want to think about my mom. Because despite me telling myself she is ALIVE something tells me I'm wrong. It's a bad feeling coiling in my gut, twisting around me like a Serpent slithering down my spine.

I won't think about mom.

I'll think about how I'm getting out of here.

There's no sign of any doors I can squeeze through. No fire exits. And the worst thing? I have two escorts with me at all times. They're like everyone else. They wear masks, covering their faces. Their grasp on my arm is so harsh, so painful. But I don't dare cry out. If I do, I lose my meal privileges. And that means not eating anything for a whole day. I can't explain where I am. Everything outside is bleached white like my room. it feels like I'm in a hospital. But the hospital is empty. There's nobody here except me, the boy, and the test rooms. The hallway outside my room, or I guess prison cell, looks like it goes on forever. A long winding hall that I haven't seen an end to. I wonder if we're underground. There's not one single window in either the testing rooms or the bathroom. It wouldn't surprise me. But why am here? Why bring us underground?

It's getting closer to lights out, Diary. I'm going to go as fast as I can, but the pen is running out, and it's getting progressively harder to write. My only inclination of the time is a crappy watch I'd been given with my new clothes. It's nearly 7pm. They turned off the lights at half past last night, so I'm scared I'm running out of time.

Okay, the pen is sort of working now. I doodled a bit on the page.

I'm mapping out where I am. I've counted ten doors down each side on the hallway, which include the testing rooms and the bathroom. So maybe it's not just me and the boy. Maybe there's others... I've been sitting here for the past ten minutes trying to think about what to write in you, Diary. There's just so much. I want to tell you about the dots. How much I want to try to find them again. But I refuse. I'm not going to try again, because it just leads to a headache. Every time I fail, I feel like my brain is going to pop. If I keep looking for these dots, what happens when I find them? Will the people holding me let me go? Can I go home? What if I never find them? Are they going to kill me?

I need to stop thinking about them.

Stop thinking about them.

I'm clearing my thoughts, Diary. No more dots. I'm pushing them to the darkest crevices of my mind to never be thought of again. When I'm done writing in you, I'm going to rip up every test paper. I'm not doing them. I'm not doing their tests. I'm going to snap the stupid pen and break the leg off the desk to use as a weapon. I'm not strong in the slightest, Diary. But I'll do anything to get myself and the boy out of here.

That's the last thing I want to talk to you about. I was going to tell you at the start, but I got carried away. There's just so much to get out. Last night the boy next door told me his name. I wasn't expecting it. Since my last entry, we've grown pretty close. He's a lot nicer than I initially thought. We were just talking about his life. He didn't tell me much, just little things. So I'm going to tell you everything I know so far. He's from our town, but he doesn't go to my school. He's on Varsity, and he has a dog called Enzo. His best friend is called Charlie, and his mother makes the best Chicken Alfredo. He's not a fan of tea, which I'm horrified at! He's a coffee person. The total weirdo. I love tea. Especially my mother's homemade iced tea she makes on special occasions.

It's something I miss. But I can't think of mom right now. If I do... I'll cry.

The boy isn't from here, apparently moving from New Zealand when he was a kid. That's obvious in his accent. It's pretty- an odd twang in his tone. But I find myself liking it. He pronounces my name weirdly, and it was strange at first, but I've grown to enjoy hearing him say it every morning. It reminds me I'm still me. I have a name.

The boy's accent fits his name. Ken. Short for Kenetti. But he asked me to call him KJ. I'm happy that he finally opened up. Between tests and sleeping, we talk. He's been through the exact same routine as me. The same physical and written exams. He says Doctor Jones is a creep. I asked him about the dots, but he went quiet. I thought it was because he'd fallen asleep, but every time I ask him about the dots, KJ ignores me. So I've stopped asking. Maybe he can't find them too, and its driving him crazy. Just like me.

KJ says his name is 329. But like me, he refuses to succumb to it. This gives me hope. We're not numbers, Diary. And we're going to escape this evil place. Together.

He's quiet right now. KJ told me he wasn't feeling great earlier and didn't really want to talk. I wonder if he's been looking for the dots today. It would explain why he has bad headache. So I've kept to myself, even when I really want to talk to him. Especially now we're sort of friends. I'm currently sitting on my bed. It's so cold, and they never put the heating on. The blanket I have is small and thin, and doesn't cover all of me. So I'm shivering. Do I ask for another one, or does that classify as speaking out of turn?

Wait, I can hear footsteps outside KJ's room. Normally they visit him before me.

I've got to go. They don't usually come to see me at this time. I don't want them to take you away from me. It seems ridiculous, but you and him are all I have right now.

I'll update as soon as I can, I promise.

Love,

xxxx

* * *

The brass doorknob to Betty's dorm room was cold to the touch. She twisted it and pushed the white painted door before stepping onto a plush beige carpet and kicking off her shoes. She looked around. The room was large and contained two ornately carved, lightly-stained oak wardrobes, a pair of cedar drawers, and two beds. She let out a breath, rolling her eyes. The side that was occupied was stained scarlet, the sheets and covers matching. It was like walking onto the set of American Beauty. But part of her was satisfied by the color. The rest of her, however, wasn't ecstatic about sharing a room with another student. How was she supposed to report back to the agency? Though if the girl was anything like Agent Andrews, she had nothing to worry about.

Her throat tightened when she thought back to earlier, trying to find her best friend in an empty shell. Archie was there. He was all there; messy red hair, mocha eyes and that smile she'd grown to love. But there was nothing behind it. The light that all of him, that playful smirk on his lips, the twinkle in his eyes, was gone. And what was left was a stranger staring back at her. Betty shook her head of the thought. It was Jughead who had been mostly affected. Archie was his best friend. His partner. It had taken several attempts, but she'd managed to pull Jones away from the boy. But Agent Andrews didn't even blink. He didn't seem fazed by Jughead's choked sobs, or the fact that she was barely keeping it together. There was a clean, clinical smile on his lips that was unwavering. Betty was sure he hadn't blinked once the whole time. Which meant Stonewall were doing something to their students, as well as undercover agents who they captured.

But what was it?

From the look on Archie's face, there had been no recognition in his eyes. He looked straight through her and Jones. Like they were nothing to him. Strangers he was meeting in passing. So surely it was some kind of mind control. Which made sense. The way the students walked in groups, like a hive mind, moving at the exact same pace, talking at the same time. They stared straight forwards, all of them brandishing that unnerving smile on their faces like Archie. The Stonewall kids were like a living embodiment of a King novel. Like someone had plucked them from his latest book. But what was Stonewall's endgame? Why were they doing this, and what was the point? Was it to boost intellect? Agent Andrews had never picked up a guitar to Betty's knowledge, and yet he'd happily played half of Coldplay's Everglow before Jones, trying to get a hold of himself, shoved him. Hard.

Betty had never seen Jones so...upset. So torn. His eyes had been red rimmed, lips twisted with anger and fear. He was letting his emotions get the better of him. But Betty didn't expect anything else. Andrews was his brother, and now the redhead stared straight through him. The laugh-lines that creased Archie's face from all the times joking around with Jones, were gone. Like they had never been there. Just like that playful glint in his eyes she could always count on during a bad day. Part of her wondered if Jughead felt guilty he'd had Andrews and Lodge chasing him the day before they were taken. Though Betty had been the one to not-really-subtlety plant the seed.

It was three years of friendship down the drain. It might not seem like a lot, but Agent Andrews was the only one who stuck to Jones's side. Betty definitely didn't, since he was a liability and Veronica didn't say it out loud- but Betty knew the girl wouldn't trust Agent Jones with her life. Veronica Lodge was an enigma, a woman of mystery. Betty considered the girl her best friend, and yet she know next to nothing about her. Veronica saw her, Jones and Andrews as her inner circle. The rest of her colleagues were pawns in her little game. Archie and Jughead were a special kind of close. So much so that Betty was envious. Jones could make Archie laugh just by catching his eye, and she actually had to put effort into a joke. It was no wonder Jughead had lost it. The boy had grabbed the guitar from Archie's grasp and thrown it over his shoulder before shaking him violently.

"Archie! What the hell are you doing? What is this?!"

No response. Archie resembled a doll. He didn't react to being shoved, pushed and shook manically. But Betty had still watched, waiting for the familiar flare of life in his expression, that ignition of warmth in his eyes. But there was nothing. Which only frustrated Jughead further. Before her partner could cause a scene and get them caught, she'd dragged him away, keeping a tight grip on his hand. And he'd just...let her. He'd stumbled with her, still sobbing, still shaking, clinging onto her. And Betty had found herself murmuring to him as they power-walked up the winding path towards the school reception. "We'll get him back." She'd said. Even when it didn't seem possible. Archie was a blank slate. There was nothing there anymore. All his past, present and future selves had bled away. They say eyes are the window to the soul. And when Betty stared at her best friend, she saw nothing but darkness, oblivion pooling in empty sockets.

"How?!" Jones hissed back incredulously. She hadn't been reassuring enough. Though Betty wasn't used to being so gentle to a boy she couldn't stand. She didn't know how to be nice to Jones. All Betty had known was insults and sarcastic comebacks. So it was a challenge. Though Jughead wasn't making it any easier for her. The cool facade he'd been desperately clinging onto since they arrived at Stonewall dripped away, leaving her with a semi-hysteric partner acting like an insane asylum patient. Admittedly, whatever had happened to Archie had shaken her. But Betty was able to grasp onto her emotions and shoved them down, deeply suppressing them. It was something she learned right at the start of her training. She had to turn her emotions off, because they were a liability. They interfered in the mission. Jones however, couldn't. Though Betty wasn't exactly surprised. His emotions spouted out of him like a bad case of word-vomit.

"You saw him, Cooper! Whatever I saw, you saw him, right?! Does- does that look like Agent Andrews to you? He doesn't even play guitar! What if they've done the same thing to Veronica? Are you just going to let these crazy bastards fuck with-"

"No." Betty had choked on the word, squeezing his arm tighter; code word for "Shut the fuck up." She'd leaned in close, hissing in his ear, "I just told you we're going to get them out of here. Now get a hold of yourself and stop acting like a baby. People are staring." Sure enough, they were. Kids had stopped in their commute to and from class, their gazes stuck to the manic blonde trying to wrestle the struggling raven-head into some kind of calm. They stuck out like a sore thumb. Luckily, Jughead calmed down. Betty had come to realize that kindness was overrated, and all she had to do was threaten him. Which seemed to work. Jughead regained his breath, stopped freaking out, and went deadly silent. It shouldn't have bothered her that his fingers had remained curled in the folds of her cardigan the whole way into the school. Though it did. It was driving her crazy to the point of considering asking for Jughead to be taken off the assignment. The boy was blinded by his need to get Archie and Veronica out safe. He wasn't thinking logically, and had nearly blown their cover. He was going to get them goddamn killed.

By the time they were being assigned their room keys as well as schedules, Jones had easily slipped into his Alias. Will Faraday. Who apparently spent the majority of his time staring at the floor, acting like the world was about to cave in beneath him.

That was an hour ago. Since then, Betty had officially become a Stonewall student. Now she was Elizabeth "Lizzie" Carpenter. Pressing her back against the door, Betty let out a heavy breath, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her damp cardigan. It was hard to leave Archie. Knowing he and Veronica had been subjected to the horrors of Stonewall made her gut twist. It still hurt to know that someone had removed the parts of Archie that she and Jones loved. But she was determined to get him back, as well as Agent Lodge.

Whatever it took.

So, forcing herself into an optimistic state of mind, Betty let her gaze flit over her Stonewall dorm room, taking the rest of it in. The room was kempt, clean, and smelled slightly of sandalwood. It was bright, painted in a pastel teal colour, and fitted with a pair of desks under a large lead-lined window, where late evening sunlight streamed in, casting the room in a pretty orange glow. Betty dropped her rucksack onto the bed that was bare of linen and slumped onto it with a heavy sigh. Her roommate had already moved their toiletries onto glass shelves above a porcelain white sink, leaving the other with a slight chip on the front for Betty. She bit back a scoff. So her roommate, brainwashed or not, was marking her territory. It made sense. After all, Stonewall was still a prep school. Glancing up, Betty squinted. A fancy looking chandelier hung from the ceiling, swaying slightly. She was still frowning at it, trying to figure out if she was looking at real gold, when the door flew open, very nearly making her jump out of her skin.

A girl strode through, not even glimpsing her way. But Betty stared. She couldn't help it. The girl was beautiful. Scorching and fiery red hair that looks burning to the touch. Orange sunset locks capturing the light in vibrant ruby hues and pale skin that perfectly contrasted her hair. She was in the Stonewall colours, wearing the indigo cardigan and pleated skirt ensemble. But despite the girl's beauty definitely being eye-catching, it wasn't the only reason why Betty couldn't seem to be able to tear her gaze from the redhead. She knew her. At least, on paper. The girl's face been one of many in the missing agent files she'd flipped through during the last briefing. Agent Cheryl Blossom. It was definitely her. The Blossom girl had been one of the first to go missing, and now here she was, standing right in front of her with a plucky smile on her face.

Cheryl hadn't been smiling in the photo on her file. She looked like a no-nonsense type, the kind of girl who starting shooting first and asked questions later.

This girl however, looked like she'd just stepped off of the set of High School Musical. Though her smile was far too wide, Her eyes the colour of the Scottish thistle growing rampant on the school grounds. Betty recognised the slight gleam, that glint of emptiness in the agent's eyes and her heart sunk. According to her file, Cheryl was one of The Agency's best. Reduced to a preppy cheerleader type stood with her hand on her hip.

"Oh." Cheryl's lips quirked into a smirk. Her voice was like wind-chimes, almost hypnotising. Betty was waiting for her to blink, but no such luck. "You must be my new roommate. They told me you were coming."

Betty held the girl's gaze. Part of her wanted to try and talk to the estranged agent, attempt to bring her back to Earth. But that wasn't possible. At least, not right now.

"That's right." Betty stood up and fashioned a smile. "I'm Elizabeth, but you can call me Lizzie."

"Right." Cheryl inclined her head, that eerie smile still stuck to her lips. Something icy slithered down her spine. "It's nice to make your acquaintance, Elizabeth." The girl paused for a moment, before striding over to her bed and picking up a creased sweater flung over the pillow. She turned back to Betty. "I'll let you settle yourself in."

Before Betty could reply, there was a sharp knock at the door. Cheryl strode over and yanked it open, revealing a dishevelled looking Jughead. He'd taken off his sweater, leaving him in a simple fitted shirt and pants. His tie was barely hanging onto his collar. Cheryl turned to Betty, one perfectly plucked brow cocked. "Is this one yours?"

Betty could only nod, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Jughead sent her a panicked look, before smiling at Cheryl with far too much teeth. "Sorry, could I talk to-"

"Boys aren't allowed in the girl's dormitory, as stated by the school rules in the official handbook." Cheryl drawled. "Make it quick..." She trailed off. "And you are?"

Jones was staring at Cheryl like she'd grown a second head. He must have recognised her from the girl's missing file. His cheeks had paled, blue eyes widening slightly. He was already giving himself away.

"Sorry, what?" Jughead ran a hand through his hair, looking flustered, before it must have struck him. "Oh! I'm Will. I'm Lizzie's friend."

"Will." Cheryl murmured when Jughead took an uncertain step inside, absently playing with a loose curl of hair trickling in his eye. "Nice to make your acquaintance."

She didn't wait for the boy to reply, before slipping out of the room and shutting the door behind her. When she was gone, Betty let out a breath and jumped up, grabbing her bag and shoving it under the bed. "Lock the door." she ordered. Jones did as he was told, twisting the knob quickly, before slipping to his knees with his back against the door.

"Nice room. It's better than mine. Yours has a lot more space."

Betty bit back a laugh. "We're not here for leisure, Jones."

"Yeah, I know that. I just wanted a bigger room."

"Sure. And what are you doing here?" She let out a short laugh. "You heard my clearly brainwashed roommate. Boys aren't allowed in the girl's dormitory." Betty busied herself, smoothing out her bed sheets, shoving her gun and wire under her pillow. She didn't turn around, but could feel Jughead's judgemental eyes burning into her back. Jughead was still sitting with his back against the door, watching her with a crinkle in his brow.

When he didn't respond, Betty groaned, twisting around. "Are you even listening to me?"

His lazy eyes brightened, once again doing a sweep of her. "Just admiring the view."

Betty tugged at her skirt, scowling, "Talk. Or I'm kicking you out."

Jones seemingly snapped out of it, his expression growing serious. "I needed to talk to you." He cleared his throat, gesturing to her hiding place for the gun. He raised a brow. "That's not inconspicuous at all. I'm sure nobody will check under your pillow."

"You're not funny." She retorted, but pulled the gun out from underneath the threaded pillow, sticking it under the mattress instead. "You didn't answer my question, Jones. Why are you here? Don't you have your own roommate to annoy?"

The boy scoffed and straightened up, keeping his back against the door. He tipped his head, frowning at the ceiling. "His name is Brett and he's dead behind the eyes."

Betty folded her arms. The boy's words sent her heart into her throat.

"Just like Archie."

Jones's eyes grew turbulent, his expression twisting. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about." His gaze snapped back to her. "Bret acted almost exactly the same as Archie, right down to the creepy smile. I swear there was nothing behind his eyes, Cooper."

Betty bit her lip. "Just like Cheryl. She didn't even blink."

"That was Cheryl Blossom, right? One of the first agents to poof." Jughead's expression crumpled. "Did she seem off to you?"

Betty nearly laughed. "More than off. She was off the scale creepy. Like someone force fed her happy drugs."

"Exactly like Bret." Jughead's expression grew sombre. "What do you think is wrong with them?"

She clucked her tongue, playing with the creases of her skirt. "Mind control. Almost definitely."

The boy nodded. "That's what I was thinking too. What about the speakers everywhere? They were on every corridor. So maybe it's some kind of auditory hypnotic influence? What if they're using frequencies to fuck with everyone's heads? They're lacing the sound waves with trigger words. Which explains why Archie, Cheryl and Bret are zonked out."

Jughead was right. She'd been the one to point out the speakers to him during their tour. But it couldn't just be that. No amount of simple hypnosis through audio frequencies could erase personality and memories. "True." Betty said, leaning forward, her gaze stuck to the fancy carpet. "But you saw Archie, Jones. Agent Andrews wasn't just hypnotised, there was something else. He wasn't...there?" It was getting harder to explain what she meant, and truly, even Betty didn't understand what she was trying to say. How could she describe her best friend's void expression? How could she even start to put that into words? Her eyes stung. But she refused to cry, to let her feelings get in the way.

But Betty's throat felt like it was on fire. "He looked straight through us, Jones," She gritted out. "What did they even do to him in the first place?" It was like an equation she couldn't solve, a question with no answer. There always was some kind of resolve. There always had been. But not now. Not when two of her closest friends were seemingly gone. And there was nothing Betty could do. She wasn't one to break. Betty Cooper considered herself a woman of steel. She could grit her teeth through bullet wounds and torture, but this was something else. This suffocated her, dragging the breath from her lungs. All she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and cry. She was splintering, showing her true colours, every fear pouring out of her. And it was impossible to stop or suppress. Tears were slipping down her cheeks, and Betty was seriously considering diving under the covers of her new bed, before Jughead let out an exaggerated sigh.

That brought her out of it. Her head snapped up, blue eyes narrowing into slits.

The asshole was smirking at her. She knew Jones was hurting, more so than her. But he still managed to act like a tool. "Pull yourself together, Cooper."

She sniffled. "I have pulled myself together. You're the one who can't stop crying."

"Uh-huh. But I stopped crying like an hour ago, Betts."

"Don't call me Betts. We're not on first name basis."

"Fine, Sailor Moon."

"Jones-" She let out a frustrated breath, but he cut her off. "Look, aren't we usually the ones who lose control? Archie and Veronica have always had our back, so we're going to have theirs, okay? So, get your head out of your ass and help me save them."

The boys words were refreshing, coming over her like freezing cold water. Before Betty could utter a word, most likely an insult, their eyes met, and she felt a sense of warmth when the corners of Jughead's lips quirked into what might have been the first genuine smile she'd seen on his lips. But it wasn't teasing. Jones let out a sigh.

"Okay, game plan."

Betty eyed the boy. "You have a plan?"

"We'll grab Andrews tonight. At lights out." He brought his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. Betty couldn't help notice he too was doing a bad job at hiding his tear streaked cheeks. He looked so vulnerable, blinking at her with those navy eyes that were always as deep as the ocean, so childish and yet the prettiest she'd ever seen. Betty would never admit it though. She'd die first in a pit of raging, volcanic fire.

She wiped her nose on the back of her hand. "What?"

"You heard me. You and I both want to know what the fuck they've done to Archie. So we wait for lights out, meet outside the boy's dorms, and go and get our friend back."

"It's not as easy as that." Betty folded her arms, settling the boy with a disapproving look. "Besides. You can't fight for shit. If we get caught, we're screwed."

"Oh, I can't fight?" He jumped up, bouncing on the toes of his shoes.

"Try and take me down."

Betty was on her feet quickly, the possibility of a potential fight shooting adrenaline through her. "Fine." She said. It wasn't hard to bring Jones to his knees. She's memorised most of his weak spots. Jughead's grin was bright. He brought his fists up. "Afraid to lose, Cooper?"

She surprised herself with a laugh. "Not remotely." Betty circled him, taking slow steps, waiting for the right moment, while Jones jumped up and down on the spot, swinging his fists. "Archie taught me all I need to know," he gasped out. And while he was choking out some ancient technique Agent Andrews had taught him, Betty took her chance.

Hand to hand combat was one of her favourites in training. Nothing got her blood going like beating someone to the ground. Betty won every fight she was in. And she wouldn't lose against Hiram Lodge's golden boy. She took her shot, swinging a right hook. But to her surprise, Jughead blocked it easily, leaping back on one foot. He was a good opponent, she had to hand it to him. Betty took slow breaths calculating each hit. When he lunged, it was amateur at best. Betty ducked and finally brought him to his knees with a kick to his groin. She loomed over him, a smile flickering on her lips.

"Do you give up?"

He looked up at her, pouting. "It's my off day."

Betty found herself smiling. "Of course." She dragged him to his feet, before stepping back, spreading out her arms. "Hit me. You've got a free shot, Jones."

He frowned, wrinkling his brow. "Are you sure? What does this prove exactly?"

"That you can at least get a hit on your target."

The boy nodded, squaring up once again. "I'll be soft."

She steadied herself. "Don't bother. I'm not a little bitch, unlike you."

Jones chuckled. "Wow. And to say I was going to go easy on you." He took a stance that Betty wasn't expecting. No longer clumsy footed, his eyes blew open, lips stretching into a confident smile. Betty had been expecting the hit, but it still hurt like hell. She didn't flinch when his fist swung at her face, but as soon as the bears of his knuckles made impact, she stumbled back, nearly falling into the door. Pain exploded across the bottom half of her face, and she let out a sharp cry, slamming her hands over her bust lip and nose. Jughead's hits were good, surprisingly. It was a miracle that he had improved. But now she was seeing stars at the backs of her eyes, her nose gushing.

"Ow!" It took a few seconds for the word to propel from her lips.

Jones was grinning. The triumphant look on his face made her blood boil. "You told me to hit you. So I did."

Betty gingerly ran her fingers over her nose. It stung like hell. "I said hit me! Not pulverise my fucking nose!"

The boy rolled his eyes and pulled out a scrap of tissue paper from his pocket. "Tip your head back." He said. Betty could tell he was trying not to laugh, his lips pressed together in a smile. She wanted to yell at him, but the pain was too much, a throbbing in her nose and lips. Something warm dribbled down her chin. She licked her lips, tasting rusty change. "You're an asshole." Betty managed to choke out, but did as she was told, tipping her head back. Jones gently pressed the tissue over her nose. His eyes were teasing, twinkling blue. So blue. So goddamn pretty. "Looks like we're even, Cooper."

She glared back at him. "So this is payback for The Dimitri incident?"

He pressed harder. "Maybe."

"Seriously?"

"You told me to hit you!"

The comeback was quick on Betty's lips, snake venom searing her tongue. But the words were lodged in the back of her throat when something hit her. Not a fist. Nothing physical. But it felt physical, like a presence slamming into her. It took a few moments for the noise to register in Betty's mind. It was like a pipe bomb had gone off between her ears, before a shrill screech rang out, cutting her in half. It felt for a moment like someone had dug a steel rod into her skull, cracking it open and stirring the contents. Before she knew what was happening, her hands were clasped over her ears and she was hitting the floor knees first, a soundless scream clawing at her throat. Maybe she was screaming, and couldn't hear it. The noise buried itself inside her and Betty pressed her face into the floor, clamping down harder on her ears. But it was too much. She was half aware of Jughead falling with her, his choked cry flitting through the endless racket which pierced her drums. It was going to kill her, she thought dizzily. Whatever had broke its way into her, shattering her completely, was going to kill her.

The words, "What is that?" were on her lips, but even when she managed to scream them out, a banshee cry challenging the shrill screech, Betty couldn't hear herself.

It was like a physical entity snapping her spine, shattering every bone in her body. It raced through Betty's veins, turning her blood into ice. Something sprung in the back of her throat. Rusty change. A noise powerful enough to haemorrhage? Betty's thoughts screamed. But they were becoming more and more unintelligible, wrapped in candyfloss. When the noise finally came to an abrupt stop, Betty found her head pressed into Jughead's lap. She didn't know how the hell it got there, or why, but for a moment that didn't matter. Agent Jones was warm. His presence reassuring. She felt his hand rubbing circles into her back and eventually lifted her aching head. She could still feel the noise inside her. Like liquid poison. Jughead was staring back at her, blue eyes questioning, his lips pressed into a thin line. She glimpsed a splash of red on his shirt collar.

Blood. She winced. If Archie was here, he'd be panicking.

"What the hell was that?" Betty managed to gather herself, taking a deep breath. Her head was still spinning, her body felt it had been filled with lead.

Jones was dabbing at his own nose which had bled slightly. He offered her a small smile. But his eyes were dark. "I doubt it's the fire alarm." Before she could reply, he jumped up and walked to the door, a stumble in his step. Betty followed him. When the raven-head opened the door, the two of them peeking out, Betty was greeted to masses of Stonewall girls walking past. But there was something...wrong. The girls walked at the exact same pace, all facing the same direction. When Jughead waved his hand in front of a passing brunette, she didn't even blink. Earlier, the students had some life to them at least. Archie was still smiling while playing the guitar. Cheryl had been bitchy. But now, the students faces were completely blank. Jughead let out a breath. "They're being led somewhere." He muttered, leaning further out. "It looks like they're marching."

Betty watched the girls form a neat line, her heart hammering. Most of the girls were in PJ's and night dresses. "Do you think it has something to do with that noise?"

Jones nodded, twisting to face her. "The question is: Why aren't we being affected?"

"Only one way find out." Betty grabbed the boy's hand, forcing him to look at her. She tightened her grip, digging her nails into his flesh. "If you want to find Archie, we've got to join them." She jerked her head towards the growing line of zombie-like girls. "You need to airbrush your expression, Jones. Any sign of emotion will get us caught."

Jughead nodded. His eyes went blank, glazed, a neutral expression taking over. He stared straight through her. The boy perfectly channelled Archie from earlier. "How's this?"

"Perfect." Betty held her breath. "How do I look? Is my bruised lip noticeable?"

"You're good, Cooper." To Betty's surprise, Jughead grabbed her hand, squeezing it. "Ready?"

She bit her lip. "Not in the slightest."

He hummed. "Like you said, just keep a poker face. We follow them wherever they're going, grab Archie, and if she's here,Veronica. Then we find out what the hell's going on."

Betty's heart was slamming into her chest, her thoughts were on fire. This was the first time she had let her fear get the better of her. She managed a nod, and let the boy gently pull her onto the hallway. He didn't let go of her hand, and maybe that was okay in this situation. Looking around, Betty copied the look on the girl's faces; the steel look in their eyes, lips pressed together. Her arms stayed at her sides and she picked up the rhythm of their movements. Slow and steady. Jughead was behind her, his warm breath tickling the back of her neck. The girls fell into a slow march down the hallway, quickly exiting the dorm and joining the boys coming from the opposite direction. It was weirdly comical, but Betty didn't laugh. The whole thing looked choreographed.

Maybe she was imagining it, but Betty swore she heard...humming. But it didn't sound like it was coming from a speaker. It was so low, barely distinguishable. But she still heard it. Curious, she leaned forward towards the girl with blonde pigtails in front of her. The humming grew louder, almost erratic. Betty bit her lip, getting even closer. And sure enough, the humming collapsed into a low shrieking sound. Something cold crept down her spine. The noise was coming from the girl herself. Jerking away, Betty clamped her mouth shut. Her arms fell to her sides once again, but she had already fell out of step, stumbling over her feet. She lifted her head. The humming noise wasn't just coming from the girl, it was vibrating in the air, a sound streaming from every kid in the line. It sounded like a swarm of bees had nested inside every one of them, waiting to burst out.

"Jones." She managed to breathe. "Do you hear that?"

Jughead let out a soft breath. "You mean the whirring noise seemingly coming from these kids heads?"

"Yes, that."

"I have no idea, but this is majorly freaking me out."

Betty kept her head down, moving in step with the line of students. They ended up in a hallway she hadn't seen on her tour. It was dimly lit, and she could just about make out a pair of automatic doors at the end. The kids came to an abrupt standstill. They stood in a perfect line, all facing forwards, the majority of them dressed in pyjamas. Cooper and Jones already stuck out, still in uniform. Every kid was alert. Wide eyed. Slithers of panic were startling to unravel in her gut, but she swallowed them down. "Don't move." Jughead's voice was barely a breathy murmur. He stood still, back straight, facing forwards. His expression was blank, but his voice was shaking. "Just stay completely still." she nearly jumped out of her skin, blowing their cover, when his warm fingers slid into hers, pushing something into her clenched fist. They were squishy, rolling around her clammy palm. The breath caught in her throat and she turned, risking a glance at the boy. He was still staring forwards, unblinking. His lips were pursed.

"Earplugs?"

Jughead nodded. "Just trust me. If that noise goes off again, we might not be so lucky."

She shivered, brushing her fingers over the plugs. "There's only two, Jones."

The raven-head didn't move. It was baffling how he was able to completely airbrush his expression, removing any traces of emotion. He let out a shuddery breath and the line of kids took another step forwards. Betty nearly tripped over herself, but Jones grabbed her arm quickly, steadying her. "Just put them in, Cooper. That's an order."

"Are you crazy?!" She hissed through gritted teeth.

"We've established they're being controlled by sound," He growled back. "Put them in."

"And leave you to get affected?" The line of kids lurched forwards, and Betty followed in step. They were edging closer to the room at the end of the hallway. She squinted at what looked like a teacher, coaxing Stonewall kids forwards. It was a woman in her late forties with blonde hair tied into a ponytail. She wore a bleached white lab-coat over what looked like hospital scrubs. "Come along now!" The teacher shouted, waving the kids into the room. They walked past her like lambs going to the slaughter. "All agents to the screening room. I repeat: all Agents to the screening room for Phase three."

The woman's words sent Betty's thoughts into a tailspin. "Agents?" She hissed, no longer keeping her voice down. Her head jerked. The humming was growing louder in her ears as kids moved closer to her, an endless buzzing swarm. But there was something else gracing the back of her mind. The blonde teacher. Her voice was familiar. Not just her voice. Her face was a shadow in the back of Betty's mind. A distant memory long since suppressed nagged at her incessantly. But she couldn't think about that right now. "Jones, she said agents." Betty tasted bile at the back of her throat. "Does that mean everyone here-" Her breath thinned, the words were sour on her tongue. "Oh God, all of these kids-"

"Are Agents?" Jughead finished for her. "Looks like it. But never mind that for a second," He let out a soft whine. "What the fuck is Phase three?"

Betty didn't have time to reply. The line of kids sped up, moving at a faster pace. Stumbling with them, she joined the quick march. Her brain was on fire. The humming was growing louder the closer they were drawn to the room. All of these Stonewall kids were Agents. She wanted to talk to Jones, but they were closing in on what looked like a classroom. The Stonewall kids were streaming inside. When Betty stepped over the threshold, she found herself inside what looked like a classroom crossed with a lecture hall. At the very front was a huge screen overlooking rows and rows of chairs with plush red seats. "You've gotta be kidding me." Jones hissed from behind her. "We're watching a fucking movie?"

She could have punched him. "Not a movie." She said softly, her gaze straying on the projector being set up by two men with their backs to her. Someone shoved into her, and Betty realised she had stopped abruptly. Jughead however, quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her to a seat at the back where a familiar face sat. The wash of crimson hair and freckles made her chest ache. The boy was sitting like the others, staring forwards, his expression completely blank, eyes glazed over. When Betty risked leaning into him, that same buzzing noise rattled her ears. She sat up straight, slackening her profile.

"It's Archie too." She managed to grit out, making sure she stared directly at the screen, so as to not get caught. "It's like the noise is coming from directly-"

"Inside his head." Jughead muttered. He was frowning at the screen too. "I was wrong," he said softly. The screen lit up suddenly with static and Archie, as well as every other student straightened to attention. Jughead groaned. "They're not using audio. It's visual. Which means we're both about to get our minds turned to fucking mashed potato."

"Mr Optimist strikes again."

The boy hissed. "Sure. Now's the perfect time to be joking around, Cooper." It was the first time she'd heard real, genuine fear in his voice. "Archie's been turned into a fucking robot, and I'm pretty sure we're about to follow in his footsteps."

She nudged him ever so slightly. "Just maintain your expression and don't look at the screen."

"Easier said than done."

Betty shivered. Every seat was taken. The doors were guarded, and the lights were dimming. The static on the screen grew brighter. She reached for Jones's hand, grabbing and squeezing it. "We'll get ourselves and Archie out of this, okay?"

"How?" Jones was struggling to stay calm, she could tell. "How the hell do you plan for us to get out of this?"

The worst thing was that she didn't know. The buzzing grew in her ears, a relentless screeching burrowing its way into her brain. Turning her head, Betty glimpsed the guards in front of the door getting progressively further away from it. Now the room was full, they took seats at the side, no doubt moderating the rows of students.

"The door is free." She whispered. "When we get chance, we run for it, okay?"

Jones nodded discreetly. "You lead, and I'll follow."

The man at the front turned around finally. Betty squinted. He was tall with short brown hair, brandishing the same lab-coat as the woman. Since when did teachers wear hospital get-up? "Good evening." The man greeted the students who stayed silent.

"Now commencing Phase Three." He said. "Stand by, and find the dots."

Jughead stiffened next to her. "What's he talking about? What dots?"

The next series of events went by far too quickly for Betty to fully register what was happening. All around the room, the students began to chant, Archie included. The boy's brown eyes were glued to the screen of static, before his mouth opened. The noise seemed to grow erratic, collapsing into a shrill squeal and the boy's body began to shake, as names slipped from robotic lips. Every word fell in perfect sync with the others.

"Lucy West. 23 Bryan Avenue."  
"Sara Holden - 49 Morprod Road."  
"Jake Deacon - 67 Ash-wood Lane."  
"Lilly Henchman - 12 Crisscross Avenue."

"What the hell is this? Who are these people?!"

Jones sounded like he was underwater. Betty blinked at the screen, at the static, which suddenly seemed much more alive. It flickered and danced in front of her, an endless spiral of tiny specks imploding in her vision. First, the change was small. She barely noticed it. Her hand slackened where it was nestled in Jughead's lap. Her breath slowed down, and every thought that had been attacking her began to drift away like water trickling down a plughole. The screen glowed brighter. The static expanded further, and everything else became background noise. "Cooper?"

Jughead's voice sliced through the cloud of dizzying fog that had wrapped its way around her brain. "Betty? Hey!"

She couldn't answer. Her lips were numb, her body was stiff, blue eyes blown open, and Betty couldn't move. Couldn't blink. The noise was unbearable now, filling her ears. But right then, all Betty could look at was the static. The man's voice was on a loop in her mind, "Find the dots." Somehow, she felt like she'd done this before. The feeling was familiar. The throbbing ache inching across the back of her skull, and the overwhelming urge to delve inside the static, through every tiny speck and bring out the dots.

"Betty." Jughead's voice was still there, like a ghost. "Fuck. Hey. Betty!"

The words were stuck to her mind, each name spoken in a monotonous chant ringing in her ears. Her mind screamed to let go, to look away. But it was impossible. It felt like a metal vice had captured her brain, squeezing tight. So tight. She couldn't think. Every free thought was drowned out by the dots. Until it was all she could think about. Find the dots. The demand was still prodding at her, forcing her brain to delve deeper. And she was. Betty was falling through the static, swimming through the burst of fireworks which were going off at the backs of her eyelids. She was screaming, but her lips weren't moving. Her chest was heaving, her mouth full of words, names that didn't make sense to her. They latched onto her, forcing themselves to the forefront of her consciousness. Find the dots. Find the dots. Find the dots.

The man's voice was inside her head, screaming into her skull. And she'd heard it before. The barriers fell down and Betty was hit with an almighty sense of Deja Vu.

This had happened before. But the thought was barely reaching her. All she could see was...something. It was taking shape slowly, prying itself from the static. It flickered like a dying light, dancing in front of her eyes. It was small. So small. Just one singular dot. But it wasn't enough. The man wanted her to find all of them, so she threw herself deeper, catapulting her mind further into the screen, until-

"Hey!"

It took several disorienting seconds for her to come out of it. The ice feeling was swamped with sudden warmth, something pressed against her lips. Her eyelashes flickered, and the static flashed, the shape blinking out of existence.

Betty herself blinked. She could move again. Breathe again. There was something warm, something gushing, from her nose. Blood. But that wasn't her main concern now.

Agent Jones was kissing her. His lips were soft, so soft, his breath slow, eyes closed. And Betty could do nothing but stare, baffled, before her brain kicked into gear.

She let out a muffled squeak. "Get off me!" Her mind was back to the door and the lack of guards. Jughead jumped up and grabbed her arm, and she latched onto a still chanting Archie's- yanking him up too. It was their only chance. Every student was staring at the screen, and the teachers, or whoever they were, at the front, talking amongst themselves.

Jughead made it to the door, dragging along Betty and Archie, who she had to forcefully turn away from the screen. The three of them made it out of the room and started to run, Betty pulling Archie with them. He was still running off names in the same robotic tone.

"Hannah Spiral - 68 Martel Road."  
Mara Dyer - 15 Judgewell Drive."  
Abigail Crompton - 89 Hirecliff Road."

"Andrews, stop." Jughead gasped out. "Fuck, he's going to get us caught."

"Lewis Mortimer - 12 Devils Drive." Archie drawled, stumbling with them. His body was stiff, his arms flailing at his sides. She tightened her grip on him.

Betty was out of breath. She had to get it out. The feeling of Jones's lips was still tingling. "Did you just kiss me?!"

Jones, to her annoyance, laughed. "We've get more important things to worry about, Cooper!"

They reached the end of the corridor, stopping at a turn. Jughead let out a breath. "Okay." He sent a worrying look at Archie, who had gone silent. The last name had been spoken minutes ago. "Is it a bad thing that he's stopped the weird chanting?"

Betty shook her head. "No. We do this, and we do it quickly." She pushed the redhead against the wall, leaning in close. Sure enough, the humming was there. Not as loud as it was earlier. She frowned. "The humming or buzzing in his head, it's gone quieter."

Jughead nodded. "Which means they act like a sort of hive mind, right? When Archie was near the others, that noise was going crazy."

Betty took the boy's words in, her gaze on her best friend. Agent Andrews stared vacantly back at her. Now he was away from the others, he was blank again. She almost missed the Archie who had been playing the guitar on campus. At least he'd been smiling. Creepily smiling, sure. But it was a smile all the same. Not so much now. There was something in his eyes. Not completely noticeable. But when she properly leaned in, there was a very faint red light glinting around his iris. "What's causing it though?" she murmured, checking the boy over. She ran her hands through his hair, prodded his temples and clicked her fingers in front of his glazed over eyes. Though of course he didn't blink. "Something must be reacting to the noise."

"Which is why we weren't affected." Jughead cut in. "We haven't had our brains fucked around with." He pulled a face. "Well, you almost did."

She bristled. "You're going to hold that against me for the rest of time, aren't you?"

Jones shrugged. "And that I woke you up with a kiss? Definitely." The bright smile which graced his lips suddenly was gone before it could fully blossom. Jughead squinted.

"Wait. Check the back of his head."

Betty did, running her hand down the base of Andrews's skull. Her fingers skipped over ridged skin and her heart plummeted. Stitches. She let out a breath.

"Something's inside him."

"What?" Jones's eyes widened. "Like a parasite?"

Betty resisted the urge to hit him. "No! My guess is a receiver."

"Right." Jughead blew hair out of his eyes. "And those names Archie was chanting? What was that? All I saw was static."

Betty bit her lip. Maybe telling Jones about the dots wasn't a good idea. Especially that she'd seen one. Even if it was brief and over before it could fully take an effect on her, she'd seen it. She folded her arms. "How do we get it out of him? If that thing's been inserted into his skull, how the hell do we remove it?"

"There will be no removal of any sort, Elizabeth Cooper."

Betty jumped at the new voice. As well as her name being spoken so casually, as if used to saying it. She twisted around, grabbing Jones's arm. It was the man from earlier, who had stood at the front in the screening room. He was standing with an amused look on his face. His smile broadened. "Agent Andrews is currently going through Phase three, and you two have disturbed his progress." He took several steps forward and crossed his arms over his light blue scrubs. There was a manic look in his eyes.

"Care to explain?"

* * *

2013.

"Subject three-two-eight please exit your room immediately."

The blonde took a hesitant step out, keeping her head down. The hallway was freezing, even colder than the prison she'd been trapped inside for what felt like forever. She folded her arms across her chest, hugging warmth into herself. Her usual escorts stood in front of her. Though this time something was different. They didn't start moving down the corridor like usual. Instead, one orderly wandered over to the room next to hers and pulled the hefty metal slab open. She expected key cards, but the man held an old fashioned looking key. "Subject three-two-nine please exit your room immediately."

"Ow! I can walk on my own, asshole!"

The accent. 328's heart sped up. The boy next door. It was him. She should have been expecting to meet him at some point, but they'd been separated for so long.

328 stared. She couldn't help it. It had been so long since she'd had proper contact with anyone. She held her breath, her gaze on the doorway. After a second, a boy stumbled out, half dragged by a third orderly. He was maybe a year younger than her. The boy had red hair splayed across a pale face, freckled cheeks and wide bambi-like brown eyes. He was in the same bland white shirt and pants as her. 328 felt her cheeks flush. She couldn't help it, her lips pricking into a small smile. It had been so long since she'd smiled.

"KJ?" the name slipped from her lips before she could help it, before she could choke it back.

The boy stopped snarling at the man restraining his arms behind his back, and stared back, his lips curving into what might have been the smallest of smiles.

"Lili?"

It felt so good to hear her name. 328 could only nod. She opened her mouth to say more, but an escort harshly grabbed her arm. "No talking. Wasp wants to talk to the two of you, and you don't speak without being spoken to. Do you understand me?"

328 nodded, swallowing hard.

329 grumbled something unintelligible. But he didn't push it.

The orderly began dragging her down the hallway, the other following, pulling the redhead along too. "Wasp?" 328 repeated, shivers slithering down her spine .

She staggered along, nearly tripping over herself. With 329 close, she felt much more confident. "Who's that?"

The orderly cleared his throat. "Please refrain from speaking, three-two-eight."

328 gritted her teeth. But she didn't say anything else. She stayed silent as the orderlies pulled the two of them down what she thought was an endless hallway. But there in fact was a glass door at the end, leading into what looked like a school gymnasium. The floor was bright orange, running tracks around the perimeter. It was empty, except a figure standing in the centre. 328 sent a glance at 329. But he wasn't looking at her.

Instead, he was staring at the figure, a look of disbelief crossing his face.

At first, she didn't know why 329 looked so shocked. But as they got closer, the figure sprung out at her, an identity taking hold. She let out a sharp breath and came to an abrupt stop. 328 recognised the tousled curls, golden skin, and that smirk curled on lips she used to fantasise about. The boy stood with his arms folded, eyes that were so warm, so kind, ice cold. His expression was almost robotic. But seeing her face, he perked up, settling the two of them with what could only be a triumphant smile.

It couldn't be him. The way he stood, brandishing a black jacket over a white shirt and loose fitting tie. This couldn't be the boy she'd been crushing on for two years.

"Jughead?" She managed to choke out, at the same time as 329 hissed, "Cole?!"

They exchanged a glance, both of them looking a mixture of confused and horrified.

The boy chuckled. He inclined his head.

"Jughead. Cole. Wasp. Whichever works." He nodded at them. "What's up, I'll be your trainer. You can call me by either name, but I prefer Agent Wasp."

A wave of ice water came crashing down on her, chilling 328 to the core. "It was you?" she whispered. She was back in her room, struggling in her assailants arms. His hot breath was grazing her neck, his weight crushing her. The same boy she'd written so fondly about in her diary. "You hurt my mom? You... oh God, you took me."

The boy rolled his eyes. "I knew you had a thing for me," Sparkling blues glinted, a cruel smile pulling on his lips. "The rest was history, 328. You're perfect for our program."

"What?!" 329 finally exploded, struggling in his orderlies arms. "What the fuck is this? This was YOU? You..."

"Killed your parents and knocked you out." Wasp drawled. "Yeah, yeah. Get over it." His eyes twinkled. "You have a good right hook, mate. Gotta admit that. You're a little rusty, but I think with some conditioning and brutal training you could be a killer."

Something in 329 snapped. He was launching himself at Wasp, and 328 was stumbling back in her orderlies arms. The redhead's eyes were bright with tears. He swung at Wasp, who easily ducked. But 329 wasn't giving up easily. He was swinging punches, easily ducking, avoiding Wasp's comebacks. "Why?" 329 spluttered, bounding back when Wasp took a swipe at him with his leg. "Why would you do this, Cole? I thought we were friends! We...were friends, right? You were-"

"The nerdy book guy sitting under the bleachers cheering you on at every game." Wasp said, flashing the boy a grin. "Looks can be deceiving, Kage."

"But...you said we were friends!" 329 was growing progressively more hysterical.

Wasp laughed with no humour. "You're an asset, moron. Just another potential Agent. My father wanted you so I brought you in. Your folks were just in the way."

Father?

328 opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come out. Jughead Jones, the boy she'd fallen in love with, was her kidnapper; the one who had taken her from her home, murdered her mother. And he was here, grinning at her like she was a slab of meat. She was numb. Her feet were glued to the floor.

329 lost his fight, the murderous look slipping away. With him inebriated, Wasp easily brought him to his knees. "You're a good fighter." The raven-head gasped out, swiping at his bloody nose. "With some training, you could be one of our best." He ducked to the boy's height, patting 329 mockingly on the head. "We'll be brothers one day."

"Fuck you."

Wasp's reply to the boy's scathing words was a kick into the back of his head, sending the boy flat on his stomach. He didn't stop, every hit broadening his already sickening grin. 328 struggled. "No!" but the orderly held her tighter.

"Are you teasing the new recruits?"

328 spun around at the sound of the girl's voice. Her head was spinning. 329 was sobbing into the floor. His orderly dragged him to his feet, but this time he didn't fight back. His expression had gone slack, warm browns glued to the doorway.

A pretty raven-head had stepped into the room. And 328 automatically made the connection. The same golden skin, sleek dark hair, and cruel smile. She wore a tight black dress, her hair pulled into a ponytail. There was a playful smirk curled on her lips. "Oh little brother, you know they're daddy's favourite. Don't play with them just yet." 

* * *

review for more! make sure you lemme know you're reading, thanks for tuning in 3


	4. Chapter 4

discontinued.

im sick to death of getting troll reviews, and when i work hard to write these. find a better story, i guess :)


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